


A Heart's A Heavy Burden

by AliAliOxenfree



Category: Baldur's Gate
Genre: Angst, Eventual Romance, F/M, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, what the heck do I do for tags
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-25
Updated: 2020-12-06
Packaged: 2021-03-08 22:07:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 35,210
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27183586
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AliAliOxenfree/pseuds/AliAliOxenfree
Summary: A series of non-chronological snippets and moments between a blank-faced sorcerer and a nerdy wizard , one incapable of feelings, the other incapable of easy truths. Ratings may change as the series progresses!
Relationships: Gale/Main Character, Gale/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 43
Kudos: 68





	1. Paper Boats and Muddy Boots

Her heated fingertips traced the cool surface of the water, watching as the small waves lapped at her bare toes. Letting out a soft exhale, she felt the difference in temperature, the difference in texture, looking for the part that did not belong. The water was wet, it was cold. She was warm, gentle and soft. But these descriptions, these...definitions, did they have to be set in stone?

Her index finger extended, nail tracing a clean circle on the lake’s surface and with another rise and fall of her chest, tapped its centre neatly. She felt the rush of magic from her chest curl up and over her shoulder blades, travel swiftly down the length of her arm, coiling over muscle and blood, feeling the way it cracked against the bones in her finger as it finally made its descent into the water below.

As she finally opened her eyes and looked down, she was satisfied to see a small paper boat floating neatly on the surface, edges seemingly untampered by the cold, wet water underneath it. If she really, truly stared at it, she would see the way in which the tiny waves passed through it, how it seemed unhindered by the current. But by believing in a moment where logic and reasoning were untrue, it looked as real as can be. 

Until she felt someone clear their throat behind her and was suddenly all too aware she was sat barefoot, cross legged on the edge of a lake, most likely covered in mud and sand. If it weren’t for the fact they all had wiggling worms in their heads, she might have considered this being one of her oddest moments.

“A very nice, clear mirror image to be sure.” Gale commended, and Clara resisted the urge to sigh. Why was it, miles away from home, from elder wizards who loved nothing more than puffing out their chests and looking on with a patronizing gaze, did she happen to find another? She might have grumpily glared, or given a snarky rebuttal. But because she was not capable of these things, she simply glanced over her shoulder, staring up into those chocolate brown eyes that seemed to look at her all too often and replied “Thank you.”

Gale glanced down at the ground and she could practically see him analyzing the ratio of clean robes to muddy ones before he opted to lean against a convenient rock as if it was made for him. “I suppose it is important to keep up practices of all magic, be it important ones, or…” he waved a hand in the direction of her boat and Clara imagined in great detail of how she would shove him into the lake. “But I must ask, why a paper boat?”

“It is both simple and sentimental.” Clara responded, rising from the floor and brushing down her robe with her hands. “Mirror Images are most easily created in locations familiar to the object. A chair is easy to imagine and shape in your mind at a table setting, in a tavern or a room. A flower is easy to imagine in a meadow. But a paper boat floating upon the very thing that would bring about its eventual demise?” She padded up the shoreline, passing by Gale to pick up one of her boots, both placed smartly on the floor beside his rock. “It is a good experiment for the mind, accepting that things are sometimes not where they should be, but continue to exist and even thrive, anyway.”

Placing one boot back down on the floor, she met his eyes. “Mind if I borrow your shoulder?” she quizzed. Gale blinked in surprise, before clarity clouded his gaze and he nodded, stooping slightly to allow her hand better purchase upon himself. 

“An interesting point.” he commented, watching at how she balanced on one foot, the other poised above the boot’s opening whilst her small hand flexed on top of his shoulder, her warmth seeping through his robe. “It is both an exercise in magic and mental fortitude. What about the sentimental aspect?”

Clara focused on wiggling her leg into the leather boot, which was strongly resisting the cold and wet appendage that was fitting into it. “It was one of the first things I tried to make when I first learnt Mirror Image.” she explained, eyes glancing downward. “As you would say, familiar and practiced images are often best.”

With all her wiggling and attention on getting her foot solely snug inside, her boot had seemingly had enough and fell on its side. With a sudden change in her gravity, Clara couldn’t help but topple over, inhaling out of reflex as the ground rushed up to meet her. Or rather, it would have if a pair of hands had caught her gently around her waist, and she found herself looking up into those warm brown eyes once more. 

“Your talent for magic is admirable.” Gale teased, grinning down at her. “Your technique for putting on shoes could use a bit of work, however.” 

For once, Clara was content in the knowledge that she couldn’t express her embarrassment, or the microscopic warmth that sprouted in her chest. She simply blinked up at him and inclined her head. “A very nice catch.” She replied. “This seems like something you’ve practiced in.”

At that Gale turned his head and coughed, a slight blush tinging his features. Putting his weight on his heels he rose, bringing her up with him to a suitable standing position. Once it looked like she wouldn’t be toppling over any time soon he released his hands, returning them to their usual position behind his back. “I may have dabbled occasionally” he remarked, a small smile on his face. “I do like to excel in everything I try, of course.”

He bowed his head towards her. “I should prepare for bed.” he said, eyes looking past her towards the lake once more. “Perhaps another time you could discuss those theories in more detail with me?”

“If I’m not too busy falling into mud, I’ll have to check my schedule.” Clara replied, stooping down to pick up her boots instead, the mission to wear them briefly retired. Looking up at him with a gaze she hoped one could perceive as “nice”, she nodded in reply. “I would like that.”

With one more smile, Gale passed her, making his way back towards the fire and their respective tents. Clara watched him leave, his back silhouetted in the warm firelight. Suddenly she noted how cold her hands and feet were, the night’s breeze doing nothing for her circulation. With one last glance to the water, she caught the last whispers of the little paper boat before it faded into nothingness, the tiny laps of the waves continued as if nothing had ever been there. And indeed, nothing really had. 

Perhaps, she considered, readjusting her grip on her boots and looking back towards the camp, she should apply her efforts to things that were in fact, real and corporeal instead. Maybe then, she could create something that would last for more than a simple minute.


	2. Teatime

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Olive branches are extended, if only for a moment.

“You’re staring at her again.” Clara mused from her spot by the fire, hands gently clasped around her mug of tea. The Gods only knew how Astarion had managed to find the stuff, but he’d come swaggering back from the Tiefling trader like the cat who’d caught the canary and had the cream in one sitting. Judging by the panicked look she’d seen on the same Tiefling when she passed him by later, hands rapidly patting his person, she had a sneaking suspicion the trade wasn’t completely fair. But after trekking through copious amounts of water to save a child from singing women, getting absolutely drenched in the process and then having to hike back to camp, laden with all manner of food and supplies? She was quite happy to accept the stolen goods if it meant she could spend the rest of the night curled up by the fire with hot tea in her belly.

Someone else, however, seemed far less interested in the events going on around him. As he hadn’t seemed to have heard her the first time, she rose from her coveted position - noting with a slight annoyance how it had immediately been taken by the dog - and headed over to the tents, right towards her fellow magic user, whose entire attention was focused on the purple image hovering in his hand.

She glanced over his shoulder and- oh. Of course. Just as she’d thought. The lady with the raven hair and brilliantly shining circlet hovered upon his hand, looking for all the world like she belonged there.

“A portrait lasts a bit longer.” she commented, noting with satisfaction at how Gale almost jumped ten feet in the air, spinning around in surprise. “And it requires significantly less magic to see.”

Noting how it was only her and not, well, any of his other less than savoury party members, Gale bit back a soft sigh. “Clara.” he said, giving her an exasperated look.

“Gale.”

“It’s rather rude to sneak up on people, you know.”

“But your expression was so fun to watch.”

Despite the permanent stoicism that masked her face, her eyes twinkled in what he hoped was mischief. “Yes, well.” he remarked, brushing off an imaginary piece of dirt from his robe. “I would thank you not to do that again.”

“If it’s any consolation, I did call out to you.” Clara said. She glanced down at his palm, half convinced the woman would appear again. Throwing caution to the wind, she looked back up at him, noting the slight tiredness that accompanied his gaze. “Someone you’re missing?” she offered. “Someone back in Waterdeep?”

At that, Gale paused unnaturally, words that so usually poured from his mouth seemingly reluctant to come out. “She’s…” he began, before shaking his head. “No. Not from Waterdeep.”

“I see.” Clara responded, taking a sip from her mug. “I must make you aware, I didn’t come over here to irritate you.” At Gale’s raised eyebrow she bobbed her head, looking back toward the fire. “I just wanted to make sure you were alright.” she said. “You’ve seemed far away for the past few days.”

Gale shook his head in reply. “Truly” he said, giving Clara a tired but appreciative smile. “I am as well as I can be, all things considered. I suppose on nights, minds do tend to wander towards the hypothetical.”

“Well…” Clara began quietly. Feeling bold, she gently took one of Gale’s hands in her own. “I understand the need for secrecy, especially with your...condition.” With her free hand, she passed her half finished mug of tea between them, his much larger hands encompassing the mug over hers. “But you must take care of yourself. You are…” she fell quiet for a moment, struggling to find the correct word in her head. “Important...to this party. If you do need to talk, I am only a few steps away.”

A pause stretched between the two, neither knowing quite what to say. Until finally Gale smiled, his hands squeezing Clara’s between the mug. “I’ll keep that in mind.” he said. “Thank you.”

Having said her piece, Clara stepped away. With one last look back at him, she headed back towards the fire. From his position, he heard her mildly grumbling about Scratch’s opportunistic motives and how Astarion was a “bad influence.”. But as he raised the cup to his lips, drinking in the warm, homely taste of the tea that curled in his chest, the thought of creating her image didn’t even cross his mind. No, it was instead the half elf sorcerer, now resting peacefully by the fire, that caused a small smile to grow over his face, and the ever encompassing pressure over his heart, lightened, just a tiny fraction.


	3. Death Saving Throws

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bad times ensue.

Shit. Shit Shit _Shit_.

Of all the magic she possessed in her body, of all the talent that she held in her mere fingernail, why in the seven hells did she never learn a single healing spell?!

She should have positioned herself better, should have cast a barrier spell, should have known that by standing near the edge she could be shoved off, tumbling below to the depths of the cave. Stupid. Idiotic. Those things she _should_ have predicted.

What she hadn’t predicted was a flash of purple breaking into her field of vision, the makings of Mage Armor encircling her body. Gale’s large hands had clamped themselves down on her body as they fell over the crevice, one hand cupping her head, the other harshly pressing her into his chest. They tumbled into darkness, the air screaming as it rushed past her ears, sickness and pressure rising in her belly. The last thing she remembered of falling was noting the large stalagmite, sharp as a nail and barrelling straight towards them before the world went dark.

Without the magic armour she was convinced she would have died. She had risen only moments later, the adrenaline of the fall forcing her to try and stand. Her head darted around wildly, searching for her companion before her heart almost stopped at the sight of him. The stalagmite had missed his head by mere inches, but it had glanced off the left side of his chest. Gale lay prone a few feet away from her, his form still and limp.

At first she thought they’d both gotten off lucky, until she spied red, so much red, crimson blood drenching his purple robes. Without another thought she’d crawled over to his side, watching as his hands suddenly jerked to life. They’d grasped her arm tightly and his eyes bore piercing stares straight past her, his teeth gritted. It took her a moment to realise how utterly blind he was down here in the darkness, and that she could be easily perceived for yet another enemy.

“Gale.”

At that he stilled, his body shaking and pallid. “It’s me.” she said, her hands moving to cup his own tightly. “I’m here.”

With a guttural gasp, Gale lost his grip on her person, shaking on the cold, wet floor and she suddenly became all too aware of the precarious pendulum on which his life swung.

Her own hands fumbled now, unusually clumsy and clammy. Pressing them down on Gale’s chest, she tried to ignore how much blood was pooling around them. “You must stay awake.” she demanded, applying as much pressure as she could. Gale gasped in response, his eyes clouded and unfocused. She watched as his hands roamed around him, desperately attempting to grab anything that could help their situation. She heard the hissing of the spiders above, the slicing of Astarion’s daggers, the heavy thud of Shadowheart’s mace and knew she was on her own for the foreseeable future.

“Gale?” she called out, one bloodstained hand reaching up to cup the man’s face. “Gale, you must stay awake. Please.”

She heard no response, the man’s breathing becoming ragged, his eyes shut tightly and brows drawn. Cursing internally, she moved her hand away from his face, desperately diving into their respective backpacks, looking for anything that could be useful in the slightest. Her hands fumbled amongst bottles of poison, notes, spare knives and the occasional potato until... _there_!

With her heart pounding in her ears she wrenched it out of its hiding place, an old and ragged scroll of Cure Wounds facing her through the gloom of the cave. In a blur of movement she’d gripped it tightly, her free hand still resting upon Gale’s robes. Her dried and cracked lips shot out the invocation and she watched in wrenching tension how a blue light poured from her hand into his chest. The magic curled itself around the gash, the wound beginning to close and the blood flow starting to lessen. Gale let out a shuddering exhale at the movement, colour starting to flow back into his cheeks.

“You will be okay.” she found herself muttering, not quite sure to whom. Gale’s eyelids flickered, his usually bright and warm brown eyes still muddled and filled with exhaustion. Without thinking she dropped the now defunct scroll upon the ground and cupped the back of his head with all the gentleness she could muster. Her free hand moved from his chest to the hand at his side, gripping it firmly. “I am right here.” she continued. “Shadowheart will be down here soon, she will heal you and you will be well, do you hear me?”

Gale’s only response was a ghost of a squeeze to her bloodied hand and she pressed on, filling the fragility of the situation with her words, the only thing she had left. “You will be fine. You have to be. You must tell me about Waterdeep and the other Wizards there, the name of your cat, what your tower looked like.” Her heart hammered in her chest as she leant down, trying to listen for the shaking breaths through his lips.

“Please, Gale.” she whispered, feeling her heart clench tightly as she looked on helplessly. “Don’t fall asleep, please.”

She had no idea how long they remained that way, one hand tousled in his locks, the other grasping his hand tightly. But a shout from above broke her concentration and she looked up to see Shadowheart peering down, her mace dripping with acid and her armor badly dented. Her piercing gaze swept over the two and before Clara could utter a word she turned quickly, making for the thick vines that coiled over the wall to their left. Within moments she was there, wrestling Gale out of Clara’s grasp as if he were nothing more than a doll. No words needed to be said between the two women as Shadowheart got to work, her stronger, brighter blue light spilling into Gale’s wound.

Needing to break away from the scene, perhaps because she had done all she could, or perhaps because she hadn’t, Clara rose on unsteady legs, taking a few steps away through the gloom. Noting how Shadowheart’s gaze hadn’t wavered for a moment, she decided to check on her own vitality, the last drops of Adrenaline now seeping from her system.

“Ah! There you are!”

God fucking damn it.

As if his moment had arrived Astarion swaggered over from the vines following his descent, looking entirely as if he hadn’t cut through swathes of spiders. “Well, well.” he continued, glistening eyes sweeping her frame up and down.

The front of her robe was soaked with Gale’s blood and her hands clenched together tightly. Her hair tousled and her posture slumped, ‘Looking Like Utter Shit’ was practically a compliment at this stage. But Astarion had other ideas. “You two certainly took your time down there.” he said. “Leaving us to do all the work whilst you had a little fun?”. Giving her a wicked grin, his sharp teeth glinted in the darkness of the cave, and Clara almost felt the healing marks on her neck flare up. She should never have been so generous, she thought, resisting the urge to scratch at it.

“Thank you for dealing with the rest of the spiders.” she said, dodging Astarion's probing comments the way one might dodge a charging bear: with a heavy dash of luck and a large dollop of speed. “Are you injured at all?”

The vampire’s eyes narrowed, lip curling a small fraction. “Don’t change the subject.” he countered, and Clara realised she had in fact, met the bear head on instead. “What were you up to?”

She paused for half a second too long and before she knew it Astarion threw back his head, letting out a laugh that bounced precariously all around them. Glancing to the left, she could make out Shadowheart's head as the cleric darted up in surprise, her hands still hovering over the gash on Gale’s chest. “Nothing happened.” she said, forcing her head to turn back towards the leering elf. “Other than we fell down and Gale is seriously, seriously injured.”

"A pity, that." Astarion mused, seemingly bored at the lack of supposed action the two magic users had been getting up to. 

Anger rose its ugly head in Clara's chest at Astarion’s encircling questions and his expression which showed how very little he cared for their conditions. Heat pooled in her belly and pressure rose in her chest but to no avail. It simply refused to break through her blank stare, as much as she would have wanted it to. She had to instead settle for a slow inhale through her nose before turning away sharply. “Check this level of the cave.” she bit out. “I don’t want any more surprises today.”

At first, Astarion looked as though he wanted to push his luck further, but something in the half elf’s posture gave him pause. No matter, he’d bring this up back at camp. She was indeed very fun to poke when it came down to it. With an exaggerated bow he swept off, melting into the shadows as he delved further into the area.

Her entire head felt like lead, her mouth filled with cotton wool and her hands refused to stop shaking. But when Shadowheart called out for assistance in carrying Gale out of the cave, she had never moved faster to the woman’s side, immediately trying to bear the majority of his weight on her person.

He would live, she told herself. He _would_. All would be well. Maybe he would forgive her when he awoke back at camp. But she knew she would never forgive herself.

Just another failure to add to the list.


	4. Interlude

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clara goes through an irreversible change.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains implied child abuse/cruelty - please read at your own discretion! <3

She’d barely been awake for ten minutes before the maid was ushering her up, slipping her into her plain blue dress with a practiced art. Putting on her shoes, she was led through the carpeted halls of the manor quickly, deep purple shadows kissing the paintings and busts on the gilded walls. Although Cecilia had woken her many times in the past, Clara had never seen her this anxious, despite the controlled front she put up. The older woman’s hand gripped the young half elf’s tightly, afraid to let go for a second. Biting her lips, she glanced down to see the girl’s curious and bleary expression, only to reply to it with a quick, half hearted smile.

“It’ll be alright, young miss.” Cecilia said, eyes not meeting Clara’s. “This will only take a few moments and then we’ll get you right back to bed.”

“But…” Clara paused, her spare hand covering her mouth as she yawned. “Why are we up so early?” As they turned the corner of the corridor towards the main hall, she caught a glance out of the towering windows that adorned it and her brows furrowed. “The sun isn’t even up?”   
  
“Your father wanted to see you.” Cecilia replied simply, as if that was enough of an explanation. She stopped, pulling Clara closer to her as they paused before the large doors before them. In the darkness they seemed to loom, reaching almost to the ceiling. The gilded décor that embroidered them looked menacing in the twilight and Cecilia felt like she was about to throw the poor girl to the wolves that waited beyond.

Crouching down in her uniform, she brushed an imaginary fleck of dirt from Clara’s cheek, noting the furrow in the young girl’s eyes. “Now, before you go in.” she began, trying her hardest to keep the tremor from her voice. “I want you to promise that you’ll be good in there.”

“Cecilia? What’s…”

“You’re going to feel so much better when it’s done!” the maid babbled, ignoring in vain how her eyes began to mist and her palms grew clammy. “And when you wake up later, I’ll bring you your favourite breakfast before your lessons.”

“Is this about my magic?” Clara responded, her lips beginning to turn down as her eyes grew wide. Her chest fell and rose with anxious breaths as she stammered. “I didn’t mean to set that curtain on fire, I-!”    
  
“Shhh, love I know.” Cecilia hushed, pulling the young girl into a gentle embrace. “It’ll be better after you’ve finished in there, I promise. Your father has brought some...doctors to see you. They’re very special doctors, they’ll make you all better and then afterwards you can go right back to sleep, okay?”

Clara buried her head into the older woman’s shoulder. A pause emanated between them before Cecilia felt her shoulder grow wet. 

“Will Father like me afterwards?”

The maid’s eyes shut tightly, cursing herself to the seven hells for the lies she would tell. “They all will.” she promised, her throat tight and her tongue heavy as she tightened her hold on Clara’s form. “It will be so much better, I promise.”

The two embraced for a long moment, before their peace was broken by the sudden drone of the looming grandfather clock. They both jumped, giving each other shaky chuckles.

“That’s the time.” Cecilia muttered, stepping away from Clara with obvious reluctance. Brushing the girl’s dress down quickly and fixing a long strand of silver hair, she put on her largest smile. “I’ll be here to take you back to your room.” she promised loudly over the din of the clock’s ringing. “Go right in, okay?”

She could see the gears in the girl’s head turning, and the heaviness of those tiny shoulders. But to her credit, Clara returned the maid’s smile with a huge one of her own. “Okay!” she said, voice wobbling. “I’ll see you in a minute!”

Cecilia waved at the young girl’s retreating back, noting how tiny she was against the towering gates to her peril. She kept up a smile as Clara opened the large doors and slipped through with barely a sound. It was only until the doors had shut, and the girl’s fate was sealed that she allowed the tears to fall, stifling her cries with a hand and retreating round the corner to wallow in her encompassing guilt.

Clara had never liked the main hall very much. It was too big, too overwhelming and for all the fires that raged, braizers and torches that were lit, it was far too cold. The gilding didn’t stop at the main doors, it traced the ceilings and the walls, only allowing the cool, dark marble floor freedom from the sickly sweet vanity it represented. 

But what Clara disliked the most was the large, looming painting of the family at the very back of the hall. Her father was sitting in a high backed chair, her siblings were placed like accessories around him whilst her stepmother stood behind them, overseeing the entire picture. All of them looked down upon the visitors of the hall with an air of grandiose haughtiness. Clara had never met the woman in the painting, but her siblings (Or, step-siblings as they so quickly corrected her) almost worshipped the lady’s image. She wondered when...or even  _ if _ they would make a new painting with her in it. But eight years had passed since she was brought into the family and there was no sign of change yet. 

That same painting was barely visible in the darkness that the hall coveted currently. The braiziers were lit, outlining the large huddle of shapes in the middle of the room. As the door closed behind her with a soft  _ click _ , the huddle parted, the wolves looking towards the sheep in their midst. A taller, sharper figure stood in the middle, his heels cracking upon the floor like a whip as he came towards her.

“Clara.” he said, piercing grey eyes meeting her own. “You are late. We must begin at once.”

“I-I am sorry.” Clara mumbled, looking past her father’s towering frame towards the huddle of people behind him, now more active as they shuffled around, opening tomes and muttering lowly under their breaths. 

“Come.” Her father commanded, his tone barred disagreement as he pointed toward the group. Now her keen eyes had adjusted, she could make out that they were men and women in various coloured robes - wizards, perhaps? - and were reciting something in unison. 

The coldness of the hall seeped into her skin as she followed without complaint, moving with her father. The wizards parted like water as she approached, eyes all fixed on her small form. Her father placed his large hands upon her shoulders, manoeuvring her into the centre of a slowly forming circle. 

“After this.” her father said, stepping back behind the circle. “You will not be a danger to yourself, or to anyone else with your magic.” He swiftly raised a palm up, demanding silence as Clara’s mouth opened, an apology stuck in her throat. “You will be  _ better _ after this, Clara.” he stressed, his features morphing into a smile. “Don’t you want to be better?”

Her mouth shut with a click, and it was all she could do but nod once. Satisfied, her father inclined his head towards the wizards around him, moving back a few paces to observe. 

As the ring of people closed around her, Clara felt sick, her spine rigid and her hands clasped tightly together. She heard the beginnings of an incantation in a language she’d never heard. Lines of magic formed around her as the chanting grew louder, and she felt something in her chest start to...pull? She shut her eyes tightly, tears spilling down her cheeks as the pulling grew more painful, wrapping her arms around herself as the noise grew louder, the magic thrummed in her ears, the coldness curling itself into her very bones. The last thing she remembered was a stabbing pain in her chest and overwhelming feeling of loss before everything went dark.

-

Cecilia had been standing outside the girl’s bedroom door for the past five minutes, her hands clasped tightly around a breakfast tray filled with various sweets and cakes. The warm morning air that shone through the window opposite did nothing to quell her anxiety, and her mind was filled with the events of the night before. Steeling herself with a shaking breath, she pushed open the door to the room, plastering a sickly sweet smile on her face. 

“Good morning young miss!” she sang loudly, making a beeline for the bed. “I hope you slept well-oh!”

She stopped, taking in the sight before her. Clara sat ramrod straight, her face blank as a piece of paper and looking as if she hadn't slept a single minute. Still wearing the blue dress from the night before, her grey eyes turned towards Cecilia as she nodded, hands clasped gently on her lap. ”Good morning, Cecilia.” she murmured, feeling the anger and sadness and anguish rage in her chest, never again to break through her newly made barrier. “Thank you for bringing me my breakfast.” She attempted to smile, tried to express some semblance of joy, but it stopped just short of shining through. Her lips tilted upwards with no life in them, no positivity or light at all.

She watched as Cecilia’s eyes filled with tears as she placed the tray down on the bedside table, and allowed herself to be tightly held as the maid sobbed, apologies and anguish spilling from her lips. Her father’s words echoed in her head as she sat there, overwhelmed with emotion but never again allowed to release it. Surely this was better? Surely, she would now  _ be _ better?

Wouldn’t she?


	5. First Aid

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Both Physical and Emotional healing is delivered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi folks! just wanted to say a big THANK YOU to everyone who has read so far! I really hope you're all enjoying this and I hope you're all having a good day, wherever you guys are!

After their hairy encounter in the caves a few days prior, Wyll had suggested that the resident wizard and sorcerer of the group rest up whilst the others continued the search for a cure. Looking as if a stiff breeze would knock her over, Clara agreed without much dispute. Shadowheart remained behind as well, keeping an eye on Gale’s injuries whilst the others headed out. With Wyll boasting and showing off every other minute and Astarion occasionally adding in a snarky comment, Clara was fairly certain Lae’zel would murder them both as they headed off through the trees, the Githyanki’s grip on her sword becoming ever tighter. 

But now that the camp was sufficiently quieter, Shadowheart had wandered over to the lakeside for some meditation and Clara decided it was high time she started studying. Studying that would soon halt at the sight of Gale attempting to reach for a book by his side.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Clara asked, holding her tome under her arm as she rose, striding over to the log that Gale rested against.

The wizard gave her a look, equal parts tiredness and annoyance. “I am quite well enough to read a book or two.” he countered, wincing as he shifted his position. “Light reading won’t kill me but your mothering might.” 

“Shadowheart said to lie still.” Clara said, glancing towards the cleric’s statuesque frame as she sat by the edge of the water, back turned to them. “I’m afraid to tell you that what you’re doing does not, in fact, lie in the realms of ‘stillness’.” Watching as he shook his head, she noted Gale had moved to step two of his bargaining ploys: puppy eyes.

“I am almost fully healed.” Gale offered, turning on the charm as he wiggled his eyebrows. “You should know by now it’s very hard to keep someone like myself down for very long.”

Clara decided not to remind him of the five minute struggle they had that very morning of simply helping him from his tent over to the fire. Other than some of the nobles she’d been forced to acquaint herself with back in Baldur’s Gate, she’d never heard so many grumbles from one man as she’d slung one arm around his waist, allowing him to lean on her as they’d taken a whole ten steps from point A to B. “Truly.” she remarked, adjusting her grip on her tome. “Your healing is second to none.”

At her quip Gale grinned, before his eyes - which, she noted with a degree of happiness, were so much brighter and warmer than before - darted over to her tome, scanning its title before his gaze returned to her own blank one. “Healing spells, eh?” he teased, his smile widening as Clara quickly hid the tome behind her back, her expression betraying nothing. “What use do you have for those?”

“It’s magic.” Clara responded slowly, wondering how dry she had to force her voice to sound before he took the hint. “I am a sorcerer. Sometimes...sorcerers...learn...magic.”   
  
“You’re almost as good at dodging questions as I am.” Gale countered, waving a hand. “But not quite!” Noting how Clara suddenly shifted her footing his smile shrank and his gaze grew gentle.

“Thank you.” he murmured softly, looking up at her with a kind fondness. “I haven’t said that yet, have I?”

“I could stand to hear it again.” Clara replied, moving to sit next to him, her back against the log. Placing down the book on her free side, she noted with some exasperation how short her legs were, now that they stretched out next to his. This gaze travelled slowly up his body, until she found herself staring at his chest, catching sight of the bandage’s impression beneath his robes. “I haven’t apologised yet, have I?” she said. Gale chuckled at that, bumping his shoulder into hers.

“Only a few hundred times.” he said. “It wasn’t your fault.” Swiftly, he grasped her closest hand, giving it a squeeze as she opened her mouth to argue. “Clara.” he uttered, leaning closer to her now, noting how bright her eyes were upon closer inspection. “I don’t blame you.”

Clara glanced down at their intertwined hands, feeling warmth bloom in her chest. She remembered how  _ cold _ he had been, down in that dark, wet and webbed cave. She remembered his breaths, stifled and panicked and could think only of what happened if she had been a few seconds slower finding the scroll, if there  _ was _ no scroll to begin with. But she clawed herself out of these thoughts, forcing herself to feel the warmth of his hand upon hers, the softness of his gaze and the kindness of his smile. There was so much she wanted to express, so much emotion that she wanted to release. To smile back at him, to grin at his jokes or to laugh,  _ truly _ laugh at the ridiculousness of their situation. But she could not. So instead, she settled for squeezing his hand back, hoping he understood her feelings through that tiny gesture and blinked upwards at him, simply saying: “Thank you, Gale.”

The wizard simply smiled at the sorcerer in return, eyes scanning her form. “You didn’t get much sleep the other night if I remember correctly.” he commented, watching with amusement as her eyes blinked owlishly in both recollection and exhaustion. Almost sensing her disagreement, he quickly added “If there’s any trouble, I’ll grab Shadowheart and wake you immediately. Deal?”

Clara internally debated the pros and cons of such an agreement, but Gale was, as often the case, unfortunately right. She’d demanded to take extra night shifts, almost as atonement for her mistakes and the rest of the camp hadn’t argued with her. She could feel the exhaustion creeping behind her eyelids now and logic reminded her she wouldn’t be of any use to anyone in this state. 

“Very well.” she sighed. Feeling a sudden rush of boldness and trepidation, she leant over, resting her head against Gale’s upper arm. Closing her eyes, she barely managed another quiet “...Thanks.” in before she was swept under.

Some time later, Shadowheart emerged from her meditation to find their half elf sorcerer slumbering peacefully against Gale’s side. He in turn, had an arm gently resting across her shoulders, whilst the other was holding a book in his lap that he occasionally flipped through. Seeing her inquisitive and teasing expression form over her face, Gale brought his free hand up to his mouth in a shushing motion, before continuing his reading. Shadowheart glanced between the two as a smirk appeared on her features. Turning back to the lakeside she resumed her previous position. Perhaps meditating had its perks after all.


	6. A Deal's A Deal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clara rolls many Nat 1's on Insight and Arcana Checks.

Clara had briefly studied hags in her younger days. They were sneaky, terribly wicked and possessed all manner of magical abilities. It had been strongly suggested by one of her tutors that in the rare circumstance you should find yourself among one you would do well to escape as quickly as you could. Failing that, be as kind as respectful as you can, until you could _later_ escape. All in all, the very notion that you should even face one in combat is otherworldly and that you would be a fool to even try. Incidentally, Clara never really saw eye to eye with that tutor. Which would probably explain their current predicament. 

She felt the fermented soil sink under her feet as she twisted, mist curling around her form. Seeing a glob of poison barely miss her cheek, she moved quickly, disappearing in a blink and reappearing on the other end of the room. She could see Mayrina in her cage above them. The woman was dishevelled, fat tears rolling down her face as she clutched her large stomach, obviously swollen with child. Clara briefly considered trying to get her down, but considering the state of the area it would perhaps be safer for the lady up there.

She didn’t remember giving Astarion any fire bottles, but the vampire spawn had thrown several with a grace akin to a ballet dancer of all things, trying to drench one of the hag’s copies in fire. It had worked, to an effect, the copy screeching in rage as she toppled to the floor in a ball of ash.

“One down!” Astarion boasted loudly to the room, dodging a nearby bolt of lighting. “Try and keep up darlings!”

A quick incantation thundered through the room as Gale sent three burning bolts right into another Hag’s face. “Please!” he replied, twirling his staff with some mild theatrics. “Let me know when it’s as stylish as the work I’m doing!”

“Will you two both cease your showboating and focus on the fight?!” Shadowheart yelled, her shield coming up out of reflex to cover herself from a spray of acid. She nodded at Clara from her position opposite and sprinted forward. Glancing out of the corner of her eye, she noted the sorcerer’s lips moving quickly and before she knew it, the hag before her cried out in alarm as ice crawled up her frame. With a simple crack of Shadowheart’s mace, the copy burst into a thousand icy pieces to the floor.

They had Ethel cornered now, the last of her copies being wiped out in similar fashions until finally, the last one remained. But to Clara’s concern, she didn’t look the least bit worried. Suddenly, Ethel’s figure blurred, and Clara felt a presence directly behind her. But she was too late to dash away. With a wave of the Hag’s grotesque hand, her quickly conjured fire bolt died out with a snap and she had no time to react as Ethel grabbed her, squeezing her throat tightly with claws as sharp as knives.

She struggled, trying to focus on concentrating on a spell but to no avail. She heard the shouts of her companions as they drew closer. But as Ethel drew the half elf’s body flush to her own, shielding herself from any potential damage, it was clear they were at a standstill. 

“Well, well, well!” Ethel cried, grinning across at the party. “What a mess you’ve got yourselves in!”

“Release her immediately, Hag.” Gale ground out, three more magic missile bolts circling his outstretched hand, waiting for a clear shot. 

“But why, oh why would I do that?” Ethel replied, looking down at her captive hungrily. “Not when she’s so very, _very_ special.” 

Clara stilled as the grip on her neck grew tighter, focusing in on the Hag’s words. 

“You’re not whole, are ya dearie?” Ethel cooed, a taloned thumb sweeping across her jawline. Despite a sudden pang of pain in her chest at the thought of it, Clara simply stared the Hag down. “What of it?” she asked, noting with trepidation how Ethel’s smile widened, sharp as a knife. 

“Clara!” Shadowheart yelled, noting how Ethel’s claws were so close to piercing the girl’s throat in one quick motion. She stamped her foot in frustration, unable to move closer. “Don’t listen to her! Get yourself free!”

“If you’d be so kind as to let me go...” the Hag continued softly, completely ignoring the rest of the party. “I’ll be happy to fill up that hole of yours, the part of you that’s been empty for years.” She leaned in and Clara resisted the urge to gag at the overwhelming scent of swamp water, mould and rot. Ethel’s eyes turned soft, frighteningly soft. “Wouldn’t you like that, petal?” she soothed. “Don’t you want to _feel_ again, don’t you want to be normal?”

Suddenly, Clara’s head began to swim, the edges of her vision darkening as she saw Ethel, only Ethel before her. But...what was she talking about before? It was just this sweet, kind old lady in front of her, with innocent baby blue eyes and a petal pink smile. She blinked, where had she ever thought that Ethel was a hag? Nonsense. How could a lady so kind...so generous...ever be capable of cruelty? Clara didn’t know, her form growing limp and heavy. In the background she thought she heard a distant yell from someone familiar but the sound was soon pushed away, sugar and honeysuckle moving in quickly in a thick shroud. 

Ethel, in all of her grace and all of her good-hearted nature, brought her hand to caress Clara’s cheek. She smiled, buttercups and sunshine pouring out of her mouth as she went in for the **~~kill~~ ** final offer. 

“Wouldn’t you like to be _better_?”

Clara’s world stopped, those words bubbling up from her stomach, growing more acidic and toxic with each passing second. The words that had haunted her for years, both her mantra and her bane. But Ethel was right, of course she was! Finally, the chance to be better, the chance to be _accepted_ by her family. Why wouldn’t she want that?

She inhaled quietly, the words alighting on her tongue. 

“Yes.” she replied. “I would like that very much, please Ethel.”

The rest of the world faded out as Ethel smiled triumphantly. “That’s my good girl!” she enthused, giving Clara’s cheek a slight pinch. “All I need from you is some of that beautiful magic of yours and then you’ll be all better!”

The colours seemed to mix in the air, sound clashing with light, scents of lavender and chamomile intertwining as Clara tried to focus. “My...magic?” she asked. “It’s nothing special.”

“Oh! But that’s where you’re wrong pet!” the sweet, _kind_ old lady gushed. “You’ve got a wonderful sort of magic just flowing through your veins! It got tampered with a bit in the past, but even now it’s still so beautiful and _pure_ !” With a grandiose strength almost illogical for her age, Ethel twirled Clara in a small circle. Clara barely knew where she was, who she was, _what_ she was. All that mattered was that Ethel was right! She just needed to offer this nice lady some magic and then everything, everything would be So. Much. Better.  
  
“I…” she began, her throat unexpectedly tight. She could feel her usual waves of emotions rolling around in her chest like a storm, each one eagerly fighting against the other to be the first out, after so long, after so many years of being locked up. Her emotions were ravenous, begging to be free and who was she to deny them?

“I...don’t know...” she admitted softly, as if she was a child again. She held out a hand, so small, so pale? When was she this pale? Perhaps she always had been, she thought. Ethel moved closer, so close that Clara could see the interweaved pattern of the old lady’s skin, so _tight_ and youthful looking for her age. The old lady kindly took her outstretched palm. “I understand completely, pet.” she said. “I’m not without generosity now.” she said, her free hand raising up towards Clara’s head. Her long, **~~clawed~~ ** slender index finger extended outwards, giving the centre of the half elf’s head a soft tap.  
  
Everything went quiet for a moment, Ethel, the room, the _world_ fading away into nothingness. At first, Clara thought nothing had happened, feeling as normal as ever. Until she felt it. A drop of water, so small but so important had landed on her chest. Then another. And yet another. Her eyes were suddenly hot and bleary and her throat felt even tighter than before. Slowly and hesitantly, her free hand rose to touch her pallid cheek, only to find tears, real, hot, wrenching _tears_ , so many at once flowing down her face like a newly burst waterfall. She stifled a gasp and felt the emotions in her chest raging now, fighting to crawl up her throat, crawl up and escape - finally! After all this time! She was going to burst, it was too much, _too much_ at once. Her chest heaved as she tried to stop the tears but they _wouldn’t_ stop! They would _never_ stop! They-

A cool spot alighted itself on her forehead once more and she looked up just in time to see Ethel’s finger withdrawing. And just like that, her eyes started to dry, her heaving gasps and sobs abating and her emotions, legion in their discomfort as they settled back down. And within the span of a few minutes she was still again. The barrier was back up. The dam was closed. And she was back to being pathetic and cold.

  
“There!” Ethel said excitedly, her hand squeezing Clara’s a little too tightly. “That’s just a taste, there’ll be more to come after we’re done!”

“Yes.” Clara found herself saying, as if without thinking. She refused to wipe the tear tracks from her cheeks, wanting the memory to last as long as possible. Her hands tightly gripped Ethel’s own as she nodded. “Anything you want, Ethel. Anything. Just bring it back. Bring it all back.”

“Of course love.” Ethel smiled. “Let me just-”

She stopped, looking uncharacteristically troubled for a moment. Then in a flash, her blue eyes shifted black and she _screamed,_ the sound reverberating through Clara’s ears. The world broke into a million shards around her, loud and agonising wails crying out in unison, not from herself but from **~~Ethel~~ ~~The Witch~~ **

**_The Hag_ **.

Clara fell to her knees as the room reasserted itself, vines and tree roots spiralling around her. Mayrina looked down at her in shock, still stood up in her cage. The fires on the other side of the room had been reduced to mere cinders and there stood her companions in front of her, all looking positively _murderous_.

Everything moved so quickly after that, her head still swam with the lasting effects of the illusion that she barely registered the wailing, agonising screams of Ethel as fiery bolts, razor sharp knives and holy light burned her into the ground. Her green skin fried, crumbling into dust, her dark and deep eyes becoming dull. Moments passed between the hag collapsing and Clara coming round, but she was soon quickly brought back to reality.

A loud slap echoed in the chamber and she blinked quickly to see Shadowheart kneeling before her, her gloved hand still poised for another strike against the sorcerer’s cheek. 

“What in the nine hells do you think you were doing?!” The Cleric demanded, eyes burning in anger. “You almost made a deal with the hag? The very thing we came to stop that woman from doing? Have you lost all sense of logic?!”

Clara turned her head, eyes blinking quickly as she refocused herself. Her left cheek stinging, she carefully licked her cracked, dry lips before making out quietly: “You saw?”

“Some of it, but yes, we did.” Astarion piped up, bent over the now deceased Ethel as he rifled through her possessions. “You were awfully funny to watch, right up until you almost signed yourself away.” At that, his eyebrows rose, looking down at her in deep, unconcealed judgement. “You’re not setting a good example for the rest of us, you know.”

“We should get her out of this place” Gale commented, standing next to Shadowheart. He looked down at her, concern and disappointment mixing in his expression and she felt a small curdle of shame nestle itself in her chest. “The magic in the hag’s dwelling is fading, but still strong.” He turned his head back towards Mayrina in her cage. “We should _all_ get out of this place.” he reiterated.

Now aware she had become a small centre of attention, Mayrina turned on the waterworks. “You idiots!” she yelled, stamping her feet and rattling the cage bars. “You’ve ruined everything! You’ve ruined it all!”

Clearly in no mood for theatrics, Shadowheart rose with a guttural growl, striding over to use the lever that controlled the makeshift cage. “Get her up, Gale.” she called out to the wizard, her head tilting back to Clara in mild disdain. “The sooner we’re out of here the better.”

Clara didn’t resist as Gale bent down, one hand gently grasping hers as he helped her up from the ground. In addition to her usual swirling of emotions, she felt sick, hollow and utterly disgusted with herself. Something must have tipped Gale off however as she rose to her full height, the wizard furrowing his brow and leaning in closer. 

“Clara.” He began, eyes moving to hers as one of his fingers reached down to gently touch her cheek, coming back slightly damp. “My word...have you been _crying_?”

Clara simply shook her head, stiffly walking past him towards the exit. There Astarion stood, laden with newly acquired goodies and Shadowheart to his side, one hand tightly gripping the still sniveling Mayrina’s arm. 

“No Gale, of course not.” she called back, her eyes lidded and grey. “That would be a stupid thing to do.”


	7. Magic 101

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Magic lessons are attempted and failed. Magic is discussed, with unsaid feelings in-between.

Clara focused, inhaling deeply. Trying to will the world to soften, to relax, she focused inward on her barrier, her personal wall. She remembered, with some hesitation and disgust, how Ethel’s magic had shot through the wall as if it was tissue paper. The spark of _life_ that she had felt seemed so easy, so trivial. But fey magic was wild and deeply powerful, the smallest of gestures - or touches, in her case - were incredibly large in their ability. But _there_ . She felt something, exactly where the hag had touched. She concentrated, probing deeper within herself, noting the tiniest of cracks, microscopic in nature but it was there, without a doubt. All she needed was the right tool to break through. With a slow exhale she reached up, applying her index finger to her forehead _just_ so, sending a large burst of magic straight to her head when-!

“Clara? Got a minute?”

  
  
She flinched at exactly the wrong moment and with a jerk she violently threw her hand away, watching as magic shot from her finger like a cannon being fired, slightly scorching the rock next to her sitting position. She paused, thanking whatever deity that was watching above with what could only be amusement for her quick reflexes before taking a moment to collect herself. Safe in the knowledge she wouldn’t blow up her own head (though in hindsight, that would solve the tadpole problem) she rose, rounding on Wyll, who was looking more and more regretful with each passing second.

“Ah.” he said, eyes flickering to the now smoking stone to his left. “I apologise for the interruption. I thought you were meditating or...something.”

Clara rubbed her index finger and thumb together, trying to work out the remaining magic that had gotten stuck halfway through. It felt like pins and needles, a soft buzzing that didn’t seem to go away. “Well, you have my attention now.” she replied, staring directly into his eyes. “What is it?”

“That Misty Step spell you use.” The so-called Blade began, shifting his weight to one hip. “Mind giving me some tips?”

Clara blinked. “Misty Step?” she echoed. “I didn’t know you knew it, you’ve not used it so far.”

  
  
Wyll waved off-handedly. “Yeah, well.” he said sheepishly. “I’m not _great_ at it, so I tend to avoid using it until it’s perfected. Don’t want to tarnish my stellar reputation, you know?”

Fighting the utmost incredible urge to roll her eyes, Clara nodded instead. “All right.” she replied, motioning for him to follow her. “I don’t know why you couldn’t have asked Gale, though. He’s actually had students before.”

“Eh.” Wyll shrugged, moving to fall in line with her as they headed over to the lakeside. “I figured us Sorcerers have to stick together, eh?”

Clara stopped, her head turning slowly. “Sorcerers?” she repeated, eyes moving to stare at what was quite obviously a sending stone adorning Wyll’s eye socket. “I thought-”

“Come on!” Wyll grinned, giving her an enthusiastic pat on the back, earning him a small “oof” in return. “Like you said, if I wanted someone to stand and talk all day, I’d have asked Gale. Let’s get stepping!”

Seeing the most obvious dodge in Faerun history, Clara thought she was about to earn a sainthood for ignoring it. Allowing herself a small sigh, she pointed at two large rocks standing prominently on the lake, several feet above the gentle current. 

“Get to those over there.” she said, watching as Wyll’s brows furrowed immediately. 

“What?” he said. “No easy warm ups like, getting from one side of the camp to the other?”

Clara shook her head. “No.” she affirmed. “Getting from one side of the camp to the other is easy because you aren’t worried about the space inbetween.” Inclining her head back to the flowing water she continued. “This provides a challenge, and an incentive not to fail.”

She watched for a moment as Wyll’s jaw worked, trying to find some nugget of an excuse before his eyes lit up. “Well then, O’ teacher…” he began and Clara immediately regretted agreeing to do this. “Care to give me a demonstration?”

The ball now in her court, she shrugged, taking off both shoes and placing them on the ground beside her. She turned, eyes zeroing in on her target before breathing in deeply. Pressing her palms together, her lips moved in the silent incantation as her body twisted, leaning forward as if she were about to take a large step.

As Wyll watched, her body blurred, mist pouring around her before she finally disappeared. He turned his head to the left, looking on as the mist trailed over the water delicately, misty footprints dotting the cold surface before finally coming to rest upon one of the mossy stones. The mist curled upwards before fading away, revealing Clara, thirty feet away from where she’d started. She gave Wyll a small wave from her position, gesturing towards the rock next to her. “Your turn.” she called back.

Wyll puffed out his cheeks, letting out a sharp exhale. He visualised the spell in his mind and clasped his hands together, trying to replicate what he’d seen Clara just perform. He was halfway convinced he was doing _something_ right when he heard a loud cough behind him and tensed immediately, bracing himself for the incoming onslaught of advice.

“Place your feet further apart.” Gale instructed, wandering past Wyll with his hands clasped behind his back, looking every inch the tutor. “Send the magic to your feet, not your hands, it’s Misty _Step_ , after all.”

“That’s not the way Clara did it.” Wyll muttered, shooting the half elf a look from across the water. Seeing that Gale had joined their impromptu magic session, Clara realised Wyll wasn’t going to be reaching this rock any time soon. Sitting herself down cross-legged, she rummaged in her pocket and brought out a small apple. Giving it a quick polish with her sleeve, she soon dug in, resting one hand behind her as she watched on in mild amusement.  
  
“Well, Clara’s a Sorcerer.” Gale reminded Wyll, pausing to give Clara a small wave. Seeing her return the gesture before resuming her snack, he smiled, looking back at The Blade in front of him. “The magic she possesses is a completely different type. She’s had all her life to understand it and to shape it effectively.” He paused, quirking a brow. “You and I have had significantly less time in comparison.”

“You...realise I’m a Sorcerer too, right?” Wyll questioned, turning away from Gale to perform a very outlandish stretch. “This sort of stuff comes second nature to me as well - I’ve just been focusing on...other skills, like my bladework.”

  
  
Unfortunately for Wyll, Gale did not possess half of Clara’s tact. “You... _what_ ?” he questioned, eyebrows furrowing. “A Sorcerer? A Sorcerer that can cast an Eldritch Blast? Since _when_?”

Wyll’s first reply was a splutter of indignation before he narrowed his eyes. "That!...that is absolutely none of your business." he spat out, his frame tensed and taught. "I didn't ask for your input, thank you very much - at least Clara was kind enough to offer help instead of probing into the first sliver of interest that comes her way."

Clara squinted at the sight of the two men arguing and concluded the lesson was absolutely over. She rose from her seated position, throwing her apple core into the river and stepped forward in another swirl of mist. Reappearing next to Gale just in time for Wyll to hurl a mild insult at the wizard, she blinked as Wyll stomped away, holding the grip of his rapier tightly to his side.

Gale gave her an unimpressed look. “I don’t know how, out of the rest of the group he’s supposed to convince _us_ of his supposed ‘Sorcerer’ magic.” he said. “Rather an ill-advised move if I do say so myself.”

“You interrupted our lesson.” Clara replied, giving him a small prod in the chest. “Does it matter where his magic comes from? I’d rather have someone fight at my side that’s confident in his abilities.”

“I don’t think confidence is his weakness.” Gale said, batting away her hand with a small smile. “Rather _overconfidence_. The attribute that sets good men aside from great ones.”

Clara puffed out a breath as she turned, moving to lean against a rock. As she faced Gale once again she found his gaze locked upon hers. She blinked. “What?”

“Wyll isn’t the only one like an open book.” Gale commented, quirking a brow at her. “Your tells are incredibly open. Let me warn you ahead of time, we need to work on those tells before you play a round of cards in a Waterdeep tavern.” he sighed dramatically, one hand over his heart. “They’d clean you right out.”

She blinked again and he pointed at her. “There!” he said. “Just like that, you’re annoyed with me, aren’t you?”

“I blinked.” Clara replied, feeling a slight tension in her chest at the thought of being found out. “I hardly think that says I’m annoyed.”

“No, no.” Gale said, wagging a finger as he walked towards her. “You blink like that when you’re irritated. You also look downwards when you’re embarrassed, followed by a large exhale if you’re tired.” Coming to a stop in front of her he grinned. “You aren’t as subtle as you think. Whoever taught you this art of being serious all the time didn’t _quite_ perfect their work, it seems.”

At that, Clara’s frame stiffened and Gale’s smile dropped. “Ah.” he said, a hand coming up to rest on her shoulder in an act of quelling tension. “No ill will intended, I simply thought it was due to your magical study. I’ve heard some institutions in Baldur’s Gate can be quite strict is all.”

It took every ounce of Clara’s will to press her tongue against the roof of her mouth to avoid a sharp, instinctual and most likely offensive rebuttal. It was difficult. It wasn’t the comment that hurt, not really. She’d endured many comments or a question regarding her ‘stoic personality’ back in the city, especially in the magic classes for the wizards that she’d been allowed to sit in on. Logically, it was a normal question to ask, she understood it to a degree. That she’d received strict upbringing was the biggest understatement of the century and the standard to which she and her step-siblings held themselves was on par with a seasoned military officer. She didn’t know why she suddenly expected someone to understand, or to somehow see something that everyone else had failed to. Perhaps it was because it was Gale. Perhaps it was because he seemed so _sure_ of himself, so sure of magic and all of its accessories that she believed he might have seen her for what she was. Not stoic, not quiet or stone faced. But who was she kidding? The man wasn’t psychic. At least, he hadn’t given it away if he was, especially not with this conversation.

So she settled for a small exhale through her nose, bringing her hand up to cover Gale’s gently. “It’s fine.” she found herself saying, tasting bitter compromise on her tongue. “It is rather strict in Baldur’s Gate, but it is not…” she hesitated, trying to find the words. “My magic has nothing to do with it.”

After telling possibly the largest and most obvious lie in existence she stepped away, Gale’s hand retreating as he allowed her the space. Seeing her obvious tension, he moved to say something but Clara was faster, wanting the conversation to be about anything else at all.

“Your students.” she cut in, watching Gale’s eyes turn curious. “What were they like? Was it as strict as Baldur’s Gate?”

“Hah!” Gale barked, putting his hands on his hips and shaking his head. “If only. Whilst there are many that possess magical ability, the amount of those that are truly dedicated to the craft are few. Magic is...more important than people give it credit for. When you consider what a _gift_ it is from Mystra, how incredible it is to have the potential to shape the world to your will…” he paused, his gaze turning solemn. “Many take such a gift for granted, and I would not see it so. Hence…” he shrugged. “I soon relieved myself of my students. They were content enough with being able to hover in mid air, or to create fun little coloured sparks in the air. Not that there’s anything wrong with the mundane, but to truly...truly go beyond the boundaries of magic, to create something _new?_ ”

Clara watched as Gale paused, uncharacteristically quiet and his posture slumped somewhat. After a moment of silence between the pair, she turned her eyes to the sky, watching the fluffy white clouds sail by, completely unhindered and unknowing. 

“I think magic is a series of ladder rungs.” she said. “There are the ones at the bottom, close together and easy to reach. But the higher you go, the further apart the rungs get, the more slippery and dangerous they become. Soon you get so high that the rungs seem almost impossible. The next rung may be on fire, the one after almost non-existent to the regular eye.” 

She looked over towards Gale, meeting his unreadable gaze head on. “Sometimes that ladder can be a great cause of incredible pain.” she continued. “The lengths you will go to get higher, the pressures people around you will apply to force you to climb further - it can almost be unbearable. But…” she reached over, linking one of Gale’s hands in hers. Instinctively he reacted, his warm palm encompassing hers gently. She stood closer to him, feeling herself sinking into those brown eyes that looked at her so openly, with barely any guard to them. “But when you turn away from climbing, your will almost spent and you _look_ at how far you have come…” she trailed off, giving his hand a small squeeze. “The view is magnificent. It truly is. I think...I think you are right in that people can and should settle for the mundane, for the easy - if they so please. If they are happy? By all means. But if you would allow me - I would see you reach the next rung of the ladder. I would...help you.”

Gale sucked in a small breath, understanding her meaning behind her words. Chuffing a small laugh he returned her squeeze, eyes locked upon her own. “If we somehow rid ourselves of these tadpoles in our heads.” he murmured, moving so close to her that she could feel the heat from his body, nigh inches between them now “Then I would welcome that, so very much. Someone who is not only understanding of magic but one who wields it so naturally.” He sighed, giving her a fond smile. “Mystra was incredibly kind to you indeed, to allow you to use such magic from birth. Would that I be so lucky...I could have…”

“Could have?...” Clara echoed, finding herself leaning inward, her eyes landing upon his lips. The tension grew thick and heavy around them, neither one of them moving from the other. Gale’s gentle grip on her palm grew tighter as he reached forward with his other hand, inches away from cupping her cheek. On pure reflex, Clara’s breath hitched just _once_ , but it might well have been the sound of an explosion, for that was all it took to snap the air in two and just like that, the spell was broken. Gale’s posture straightened, suddenly all too aware of his actions. “Ah!” he laughed, a little too loudly perhaps. Releasing his grip on her hand he took a small step backward, and Clara felt the air grow slightly colder as he left her side. “I seem to have gotten carried away there.” Gale coughed into his hand, looking slightly sheepish. “Magic is certainly a...topic I can lose myself in...my apologies.” 

“None…” Clara cleared her throat, the subtle flames in her stomach dying to a low simmer. “None taken. I enjoy discussing magic with you.”

“Yes, well.” Gale replied, looking anywhere but at her as he crossed his arms, his posture stiff. “I suppose it’s a given, considering the other magic users in the group possess either a complete lack of conversational skills or are in strong denial about their magic’s source.”

At that, both of them glanced over to the camp, watching as Wyll placed the large cooking pot on its frame above the fireplace with a loud _clang!_ His expression stony, Clara felt like letting the angry man cook for the group tonight may not be the best choice.

  
“I’d better head over there.” Gale said, as if he’d read her mind. “Cooking whilst angry is never a good combination, and perhaps sharing some tips might quell his mind from earlier.”

“That sounds like a good idea.” Clara said, trying and failing to place her quickly cooling hand in a natural position on her hip. “I’ll continue my practice over here. Do...do let me know if you require help.”

Gale smiled at her once more and she immediately felt the warmth in her belly grow hotter. “I promise, you shall be the first person I turn to if there’s trouble.” he said with a sincerity that went past simple cookery management. With one last glance in her direction he turned, giving her a small wave before striding away.

Clara watched him leave, a tightness in her chest that she couldn’t quite place. Whether it came from the things Gale said, or rather, the things he _didn’t_ say. She would be a fool to not notice how closely he coveted his magical status. It was all well and good to be proud of something, but from their discussions she’d sensed a hint of desperation mixed into his words, holding his love of magic the way a besotted and drunken man would hold his lover - with a firm and messy tightness. Once out of earshot she turned, allowing herself a long and slow sigh against the rock. Gale was right regarding all of their discussions, in a way. Wyll certainly did have too much confidence. But one didn’t have to look much further to see both men were barrelling towards their respective objectives head on, not even aware of things around them. As the old saying went, Ambition was a double edged sword. It was perfectly fine to climb as high as you could on that ladder, as long as you were prepared for the consequences - to climb far beyond your loved ones or to be betrayed, to be pushed. Either way, the higher you climbed, it would be completely illogical to not think that someday, somehow, you would be in for a long, long fall.


	8. Old Faces

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clara meets an old friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So uh! Wow! This was a big chapter - the biggest so far for this little story! I had a lot of fun writing it and also I'm going to be away now until next week, so I wanted to churn out something a little bigger than usual in place of any more updates this week. Thank you all so much for reading, for your comments and your Kudos, it means a lot! I hope you're all staying safe and well! <3

They’d gotten halfway up the road to the tavern, grime and blood staining their clothes and battle-weariness clearly visible on their forms when Astarion stopped, heaving the largest of sighs.

“Clara.” he uttered, her name lingering on his lips like an alcoholic would describe his favourite drink. “I don’t ask much during our time together-”

“Since _when_?” Gale piped up in the background.

“Quiet, Wizard. Clara, darling…” Astarion began once more, taking one of her hands in both of his. Looking down at her with the softest expression he could muster, he smiled. “You will earn the greatest gift of all if you by chance allow us to stay overnight in this warm, _dry_ and otherwise relatively friendly establishment.”

Clara quirked a brow, amusement fluttering in her chest. “And this wonderful gift is?”

Astarion had the cheek to look affronted. “Why, my gratitude and favour of course! Greater men and women have fought tooth and nail for it, I’ll have you know.” Gale stood to have a rival at this rate as Astarion gave her the softest and most innocent looking puppy eyes she’d seen for a long time. “Just think, a _real_ bed, properly cooked food and who knows..” his gaze turned sly as a slow smirk spread over his features. “Perhaps some...enticing company.”

“Those first two sound rather interesting.” Clara replied, staring him down. “I’ll get back to you regarding that last one.” She turned, eyeing up the rest of the group. “What do we all think?”

A general wave of assent circled throughout the party. Gale and Wyll seemed pretty thrilled with it, Shadowheart was giving off an air of indifference, despite the miniscule smile on her face and as per usual, Lae’zel was irritated that the objective was being delayed yet again. Her negativity fell a little short, however, given that it had now been well over a week and a half and no one had any signs of ceremorphosis. Not that it was an excuse to relax, but as Clara pointed out, they’d get far more done when they were well rested and fed properly, as opposed to stomping around the woods adorned with their latest battle scars and wounds. 

With their discussion over, the party made their way towards the tavern’s entrance. A large wooden sign, proudly advertising _The Pig and Fiddle_ swung in the gentle breeze as they approached, newly repainted and varnished. The doorway to the tavern, however, seemed to be taken up by a large group of people in robes who, as they grew closer, were engaged in what sounded like twenty discussions at once. Voices mixed in with one another, tones of assent, dissent and an occasional “I have no idea what we’re talking about right now.” weaved throughout the group. Despite the discord however, each member seemed fully concentrated in their work, not a single individual acknowledging them. Clara turned her head to the side, knowing she’d meet Gale’s cheeky grin immediately.

“Wizards.” they both said. 

“Ugh.” Astarion muttered from behind Clara. “It’s bad enough having _one_ know it all, now we have to deal with more?”

Gale let the insult soar over his head as his eyes roamed the figures before them. “Clara, are they not bearing Baldur’s Gate emblems on their chests?” he asked, and Clara swivelled her head to stare at them properly. True to form, the city emblem of Baldur’s gate stood proudly amongst the myriad of colours each individual wore. “They are.” she agreed. “I wonder what they’re doing so far from the city.”

“You don’t recognise any of them then?” Wyll asked, inclining his head towards the group with a small grin. “I thought you studied with a bunch of Wizards back home.”

“I did.” Clara replied. “But there are so many classes and schools of study that it’s difficult to remember faces. And besides.” she shrugged. “I was paying more attention to the work than the people around me.”

“Does it matter?” Lae’zel piped up, and Clara was mildly impressed, this was the longest the Githyanki had gone without voicing her opinion so far. Clara made a mental note to find her a medal at some point. “They lie in the way, cease your bickering and _move_ them.”

Giving her a placating hand gesture, Clara stepped forward, clearing her throat. “Excuse me.” she called, trying to raise her voice over the din. “If you would all be so kind as to move away from the door. We’d like to rest here for the night.” She paused, watching her words dissipate in the air under the chorus of utter nonsense the wizards were spewing. “ _Excuse me. Can someone-”_

“ _Clara?!”_

A voice suddenly cut through the crowd and she glimpsed a shock of spiky blonde hair protruding from the mass of people. It moved towards her, revealing a pair of bright green eyes, bronzed skin and a smile that seemed to be growing and growing at an alarming rate. She blinked, confusion and surprise seizing her form. 

“Tarr-”

The next thing she knew she was flying, her feet leaving the safety of the ground as a pair of long arms scooped her up underneath her shoulders. The world spun rapidly before coming to an abrupt halt. Trying to shake the dizziness from her skull, Clara looked down to see none other than Tarron Vafir holding up as if she was nothing more than a doll. 

“No. Way.” he uttered, eyes wide in disbelief as he shook her to punctuate each word. The smile though, oh that absolutely remained, taking up a good third of his face at this point. “ _Clara?!_ What in the nine hells are you doing out here?!”

As she opened her mouth dumbly to answer, the laughably tall Elf whooped with laughter, giving her another spin. She flailed, feeling like a sack of potatoes as her arms and legs uselessly flew from side to side. “I can’t believe it!” he cried. “I’m dreaming, I’m absolutely dreaming, right? I’ve fallen asleep in Professor Keldan’s class and I’ll probably wake up to find I’ve drooled all over my notes again and Dula’s probably stuck something in my hair and I’ve somehow slept through an _entire_ exam and-” he paused, only for the sole purpose of inhaling more air before exclaiming loudly in her face. “ _I CAN’T BELIEVE YOU’RE HERE_!”

Clara withheld a comment, partially to allow herself to get over the surprise of seeing one of her closest friends in the middle of fucking _nowhere_ , but also to allow Tarron to use as much oxygen as he possibly could before burning out, just like every other time before. True to form, he got in a few more whoops and a few more shakes of her body before he paused, panting for breath. As he collected himself, Clara turned her head slowly to look back at her group. Shadowheart’s mouth was agape, Wyll and Astarion were each fighting back different types of laughter, one kind hearted and one incredibly mocking. Lae’zel simply stared hard, the irritation at being delayed yet again clear in her eyes. Gale’s eyes were wide, half with general concern and half with mirth. As she brought a hand to quickly wave away any fear he grinned, his telltale eyebrow raised, immediately making her aware he’d be asking for all the details later. 

“Whew!” Tarron exhaled loudly, still fighting back the grin on his face. “Wow!”

“Are you done?” Clara murmured, looking down at him as she wiggled her legs and arms, hopefully sending a clear message. Tarron blinked in surprise, before finally getting the hint. “Oh!” he chuckled. “Sorry!” Finally lowering her to the floor and making a show of dusting her off, he allowed her a small moment to collect herself. “Well?!” he exclaimed, towering over her like an elk would a baby rabbit. “Spill the beans! Did you finally run away from home? Why didn’t you tell me or Dula? When did you-” he spluttered as Clara rose up on her tiptoes to clamp a hand over his mouth. He struggled for a second before pausing, staring at her with wide, confused eyes.

“Tarron, questions later.” Clara said softly, tilting her head in the direction of the wizard mob still hanging in front of the doorway. During this exciting time, not a single head had turned in their direction, the noise and general discussion somehow growing even louder than before. “We need to go inside. Give us a hand?”

Tarron’s eyes glazed over in understanding as he nodded, a mumble of affirmation sounding behind her palm. Inclining her head in thanks, she released him and he rose to his full height, striding back towards the group of wizards the way a hard-headed drill sergeant might charge towards a pack of fresh, naive recruits. The only indication he gave her was a sudden and sharp intake of breath but she reacted in time, hands moving to cover her ears at light speed. 

“ _MOVE, YOU ROBED IDIOTS, STOP BLOCKING THE DAMN DOOR!_ ”

At first, only a few were swayed. Tarron grumbled, narrowing his eyes before bringing out the big guns.

“ _IF YOU DON’T MOVE, I’LL SPOIL THE LATEST EDITION OF ‘WANDERLUST IN WATERDEEP’, IT TURNS OUT THE FATHER OF TYRAEL’S BABY WAS ACTUALLY-”_

_That_ got their attention as all heads snapped up, almost in perfect unison. Cries of dismay and minor threats of dismemberment were thrown out. All it took was one more exaggerated inhalation from Tarron before the group finally fell quiet, the lack of sound almost heavenly. After a short pause, a few occasional grumblings and muttered curses, they split off into smaller parties, moving away from the door to sit on some of the outdoor tables, their conversations swiftly resumed. Clara dropped her hands in time for Tarron to spin around, the large smile back on his face. “You ready?” he asked, inclining his head towards her group.

“Thank you.” Clara said in response, moving towards him to enter. “What caused the pile up in the first place, may I ask?”

“Oh, well...Alec wanted to check what was on the menu and read it out loud to us, Anais didn’t want to eat anything that came from an animal, which started a _whole_ other discussion with Nerrad about the consequences of ethical consumption. Misha started jumping in on everyone’s conversations to throw out the opposing view purely to stir the pot, Sinead wanted to give everyone an existential crisis by asking very loudly if any of this was actually real and poor Colin just wanted to know if they did free refills.”

Clara simply stared back, not surprised in the slightest. “So…” she said, bumping her shoulder into his side. “Fairly standard for your class I see.”

“Oh Gods, yeah.” Tarron laughed. “Being the class representative though, it’s good to be able to shut them all up with a few mild threats.”

“Speaking of which.” Called Astarion from the back. “Can we _proceed_ now?”

Giving Clara a cheeky wink, Tarron nodded. “Sure, in we go!” he cried, thumbing towards the doorway. “First round’s on me, my treat!”

The tavern itself was fairly large, the bar and general seating area lay on the first floor. The two floors above were reserved for rooms and bathing areas. Dark oak ceiling beams stood out against the milder sycamore pillars that met the ground, with a carefully laid stone brick wall keeping the warmth inside. Torches hung from the ceiling in metal containers, with small decorative candles placed on the occasional table or two. As the group entered, kitchen maids and waiters bustled past them, holding trays of meat glistening in gravy, deeply fried fish and bowls of whipped cream and strawberries that were so perfectly presented they barely looked real at all.

Tarron guided Clara and the others to a large booth at the back of the tavern, noting with interest the way several patrons gave them a beady eye as they passed. Whether this was due to the haggard look of Clara’s group or because of the recent noise disturbance that had occurred outside the tavern only moments prior, it was difficult to say. 

Before she barely had enough time to sit herself down on something that wasn’t a rock, a log or a hard, cold floor, Tarron was already away, signaling at the bar for a round of ales to be brought over. One of the many benefits of being so tall was that you tended to get drink orders taken fairly quickly. He returned soon after, plonking himself right next to Clara in the booth, one arm wrapping around her form to squeeze her tightly, almost as if they were two friends meeting for a quick luncheon. 

“Right then!” he beamed, staring around at the rest of her companions as if he’d known them forever. “We’re in, we’re sat, drinks are on the way - I want to hear _everything_.”

All heads turned immediately towards the resident sorcerer of the party, each holding a variety of stares ranging from ‘You tell him about what’s happening and I’ll kill you.’ to ‘It’ll be interesting watching you get out of _this_ one.’

Clara measured each response before turning her head towards Tarron, angling her head upwards to meet his eyes. “It’s a...complicated story.” she began, adding on quickly as Tarron’s mouth opened, questions ready to spring off his tongue. “But I’ll tell you the abbreviated version now.” Making a show of darting her eyes back and forth around the room, she returned her gaze to the Elf before her, looking back at her with bated breath. “The longer, detailed version I will tell you later. It’s…” she paused. “Sensitive information.”

Both Shadowheart and Lae’zel frowned over her seemingly misguided promise but she ignored them. “My story is rather long.” she admitted, watching Tarron’s eyes squint as he sensed an excuse coming. “So I’d rather hear how you’re here instead.” 

“Mmmmm.” Tarron pursed his lips. “That was a smooth dodge you made there, but alright.” He leaned back, removing his arm from around Clara to stretch both above his head. “We’re headed back to Baldur’s Gate now, we were away on a research trip, looking into the different biological and magical effects on flora and fauna in the area in relation to various magical parties’ influence on them and how we might go about using various spells to repair or reignite the balance of nature in said areas.” he rambled, looking extremely bored. “We were supposed to be taking a caravan back to the city but apparently it got ambushed by some Gnolls? So we’re waiting here until the Academy can send another escort back. It’ll be a few more days but our rooms are all paid for.”

“That’s awfully lucky.” Wyll spoke up. “You wizards are a bit soft by yourselves. We met the Gnolls on the way here you know. I’m glad none of you got hurt.”

“Soft?” Both Gale and Tarron echoed simultaneously, staring The Blade down from his position at the other end of the table. “Your average wizard has more power in their little finger than you have in your entire body.” Gale remarked, trace amounts of a frown beginning to show on his face. Tarron nodded in smugness, meeting the older man’s eye. After a short pause they both reached across the table, shaking each other’s hand. 

“Gale of Waterdeep, well met.”

“Tarron Vafir, at your service sir.”

“Good _gods_ .” Astarion groaned, rising from the table. “I have to leave before I die of _utter_ boredom. Clara darling, let me know when my room is ready. I like my sheets to be rose scented. Do let them know please.” 

Before Clara had a second to come up with a witty remark he slunk off, worming himself into the crowd with a practiced art. As he left he passed the waiter approaching their table with a tray of beers, snatching one away with smooth finesse as he left. Clara’s only wish was that she wouldn’t wake up tomorrow morning to find a large group of tavern workers with holes in their necks. 

The rest of the party soon sank into general discussion of their adventures so far, Tarron jumping in occasionally to add an observational remark or to ask a question. Wyll, Gale and Clara did most of the talking. Clara provided the short and to the point additions, Gale would embellish them with some flattery and the odd exaggerated hand gesture and Wyll would round the whole thing off with a description of an event that was scarcely believable. All three avoided the topic of the Mind Flayers and the current intruders wiggling around in their skulls, instead describing how they all happened to meet by chance. “Safety in numbers.” Gale had offered as an explanation for their journey together. When Tarron’s eyes snapped over to Clara, she quickly threw together a plausible story detailing her journey out of the city on an errand for the family, her subsequent kidnapping by ‘mysteriously suspicious bandits’ and finally her escape. Weaving the pieces of her crafted story with a practiced art, Tarron’s eyes could not have grown larger as she spoke. When she finally finished, pausing to take a gulp of her beer he sat back, blowing out a long breath.

“Well!” he exclaimed, looking around at them all. “That’s quite the story you all have.” Grinning over at Clara, he reached over to ruffle her hair with a hand. “Clara has a habit of coming across strange allies - did she tell you about the time she charmed a pack of badgers to storm the office of a professor who purposefully gave her a low mark in an exam because he had a thing against half-elves?”

“That’s not true.” Clara said, knocking his hand away. Reaching up to fix her hair she gave Tarron a look. “I didn’t use any charm spell. The badgers just...went in of their own volition. It wasn’t my fault they also destroyed every book in his personal library and his collection of antique quills.”

Tarron fixed her with a grin and a disbelieving stare. “Didn’t I see you sneaking into his office moments before with a large bag of fruit, earthworms and nuts?”

“Those two events have absolutely no correlation whatsoever.” His friend replied, reaching to cover her face with a large swig of her mug. Tarron chuckled in response, his gaze sweeping around the table to fix upon Shadowheart with an interested look. Shadowheart simply stared him down in response, daring him to try.

“Well, hey there - how’s it goin-”

“Don’t even think about it”

“Great! yeah alright!” Tarron said, hands raising up placatingly. “I see we’re all fine over there as well!”

The rest of the afternoon quickly flew by, Lae’zel quickly leaving the table in search of ‘more interesting company’. Where she would find another Githyanki in the tavern, Clara had absolutely no clue, but admired her determination. Shadowheart left after Tarron offered to buy her another drink, claiming she wouldn’t be responsible for her actions if she stayed. Wyll and Gale were the last to leave, heading off to procure rooms for the group and to see to acquiring some more provisions for the next few days. In the end, Clara and Tarron were left alone in the booth, both leaning back into the plush seating with an air of complete relaxation. 

“I still can’t believe you’re here.” Tarron mused, moving the rim of his mug to his mouth, only to find it empty. Setting it back upon the table he looked over at Clara again, his eyes softening. “You had us worried back home, you know.”

Clara nodded in understanding, stretching her legs out over the rest of the booth. “I’m sorry.” she said. “It wasn’t my intention to be captured at all, I would have sent you both a note if it had been an escape.”

“The first few days of you being gone we thought you’d just found a _really_ good book again.” Tarron continued, eyes travelling upward to fix on the ceiling. “Remember that time you found a book on...what was it...oh! The Astral Plane? And...soul splitting? You read that thing over and over for _weeks_ .” he shook his head fondly, his features falling into a somber stare that almost seemed unnatural for him. “Dula was the first one to think you ran away. Maybe your father said one more shitty thing, maybe your dumb siblings got on your nerves one too many times and you’d had enough. I said _no_ , you’d at least have told us beforehand. We checked at your estate and the staff said they hadn’t seen you either. And by then…” he trailed off, shrugging. “By then I was headed off on this research project and Dula said she’d send a message if she’d heard anything.”

The air felt heavy around the two as they sat quietly for a moment, each lost in their own thoughts. Clara traced the rim of her mug with a slender finger before glancing up. “Did my father notice?” she asked, watching Tarron’s eyes flick back to her own, knowing the obvious answer to her question. “Did...any of them say anything at all?”

“Lily asked about you when we came calling.” Tarron admitted. “She said you hadn’t been at dinner for a few days and wondered if you were doing another stint at mine or Dula’s again. Other than that....” His eyes narrowed and he scoffed, slapping a hand to the wooden table. “They’re so shitty, Clara. Not a blink from out of the rest of them and you’ve been gone for well over a week now. I…” He faltered, giving her a look that she’d seen so many times before. Pity. “I’m sorry, Clara. You deserve better.”

“Mm.” she responded quietly, shuffling over in her seat to lean against her friend. Without so much as a pause, his arm came around her, bringing her closer still as his head rested over hers. “I’m glad to see you.” she said. “It’s been...difficult. But you’ve made it easier.”

“Well.” Tarron mused, giving her a squeeze. “I’m sure the Academy won’t mind adding one more body to the list of folks coming back to the city with us, it’s Professor Sylas leading this one anyway, he likes you.”

Her heart sinking, Clara shook her head gently. “I can’t come with you.” she admitted, feeling Tarron’s head lift up in surprise. Seeing him about to argue she pressed on. “There are things we need to do. Important things. It will hopefully be only a few more days, then I’ll be straight back home.”

“You’re still a terrible liar.” Tarron shot back. His tone suddenly serious, his stare pierced right through her as he frowned. “I’m not so dumb, Clara. _You_? Being randomly kidnapped by bandits, brought all the way to the middle of fucking nowhere? Come on, I deserve better than that.”

“If I told you.” Clara said, burrowing further into his side. “You wouldn’t want to be within three hundred miles of me.”

She felt Tarron pause, stiffness radiating throughout his form before his hands reached over, gently clasping her shoulders and pulling her away so he could stare right into her eyes. He held her gaze for a whole ten seconds, his gaze unreadable before he quietly uttered. “Never.”

Clara blinked. “What?”

“I’m not your father. I’m not your siblings. I don’t give up and leave when things get a bit difficult.” Tarron snapped, his grip on her shoulders tightening. All cheer had left his body as he glared down at her, jaw clenched. “You have been there for me for my four gruelling years of study, you’ve helped me with some shit I didn’t think I’d ever get through by myself and now, when the cards are flipped you think I’ll just...leave?” His gaze faltered. “You think I’d just give up on you like that? You’re my best friend, Clara. I’m not leaving because of something vaguely bad going wrong.”

Clara fell silent and for a moment Tarron thought it was to come up with another excuse. But that thought quickly fell apart when she moved, placing her head on his chest, shoulders tensed and raised and her arms, so tiny compared to his own, wrapped around his middle.

“Hey…” he said softly, returning the hug. “Hey it’s...are you alright?”

“I just…” Clara said, her grip tightening. “I just need a second, sorry.” she paused. “It’s a lot...it’s too much.”

She was right in that respect. Her body felt like it was tearing itself apart from the inside. Shame and guilt mixed together with self loathing wormed their way through her veins, her entire form feeling sick. Her head swam, too many emotions all fighting for the top spot at once. Happiness, acceptance and sweet, sweet cathartic relief were crawling up her throat, hurling themselves at her barrier and it was all she could do to hold on to something tight and just _breathe_.

To his credit, Tarron didn’t move a muscle, his arms wrapped around her, chin resting on top of her head. They remained like that for several minutes, the chatter and din of the tavern fading around them. The truth sat heavy on Clara’s tongue as she exhaled, daring her to drag someone else into her mess. Tarron deserved better, so much better. Feeling like the worst friend in the world, she let out another long, slow sigh, willing her emotions to settle themselves back down. “I will tell you.” she said quietly. “But please don’t interrupt. Just listen. And when I’m done, I’ll understand if you want to leave.”

The only indication Tarron gave was a chuff of disbelief to her final point, but he remained quiet nonetheless as she began to talk softly. As if she were in confession she unveiled her secrets, hard truths falling from her tongue like a waterfall. She told him all of it, the ship, the druids, the goblins and the dreams. Nothing was left out as they sat there, arms wrapped around each other and she poured herself out in that warm little booth in the back of a tavern, feeling her chest growing slightly lighter with every sentence.

After ten minutes of talking she finished, releasing Tarron from their embrace and moving back in her seat to give them space between. “There.” she said simply. “That’s it.”

She thought she’d always remember that moment, sitting there with one of the greatest friends she’d ever had. Tarron, unnaturally quiet, simply sat there, eyes staring off in the distance as he took it all in. After a slight pause he exhaled, moving his heavy stare over to her. “Wow.” he replied. “Clara...that’s...I…”

“I know.” she commented, hands gripping her forgotten mug for support. “Please know that we wouldn’t be anywhere near a place with people such as this if we didn’t think we were safe. The...the process usually only takes days and it’s been almost triple that time. _Something_ seems to be keeping us safe but we don’t know what. But we won’t find it back in Baldur’s Gate. Getting the druid Halsin back is possibly our only choice, we’re heading for the Goblin Encampment in a few days time.” She looked away, almost hesitant to face her friend. “That’s why I can’t go back with you, that’s why I’m travelling with people that seem...odd. I’m going to fix it, just like I’ve fixed all my problems before.”

“Of all the people to fall into this mess.” Tarron said finally, the tiniest of smiles on his face as he rolled his eyes to the ceiling. “It had to be you.”

“Given my track record, I don’t think it’s surprising in the grand scheme of things.” Clara replied, giving him a quick glance. “Are...are we good?”

“What?” Tarron’s gaze snapped back to her immediately, surprised. “Of course! You think I’m giving up on you _now_? Gods, Clara...you need all the help you can get with this shit.”

As if a Minotaur had lifted its cloven hoof from her chest, Clara let out the largest puff of air she could muster. Tarron grinned at the sight, hand coming to pat her on the head. “I can’t follow you unfortunately.” he said. “If I leave I have every confidence the rest of them will end up lost or dead or turned into mice somehow. But I’ll see if I can dig anything up back in the city about it. Who knows? Maybe there’s actually something decent in all of those dusty tomes.”

“Tarron…” Clara began, reaching over to squeeze his hand tight. “Thank you.”

Tarron smiled, returning her squeeze. “What are friends for?” he said. “If it’s not to help you escape death-infused situations where the odds are unfairly stacked against you, then I don’t know.”

He sat back in the booth, still shaking his head in miniscule disbelief. “Wow.” he chuckled. “Dula’s never going to believe this.”

“You’ll tell her?” Clara asked, watching as the lanky Elf nodded. 

“If I don’t, she’ll know something’s up.” he said. “You know how good she is at sniffing out secrets. And she’s loyal, too. Plus I think she’d cut both of our heads off within seconds if we didn’t tell her, she likes to be in on the fun after all.”

He caught her stare, shifting in his seat to bump his arm against her shoulder. “We’ve got your back, Clara.” he said, seriousness overtaking his person. “Like it or not, you’re stuck with us for good.”

In that corner where the world seemed to shrink away, where the pain and the fighting and the fear all melted into nothingness. Where the threats of death or _worse_ wafted away in the air and everything she had been worrying about for the past week and a half seemed to be insignificant. Right there, in that one spot, where unconditional support and trust and friendship radiated, Clara wished she could never leave it for as long as she lived. She knew it wouldn’t last. That Tarron would head home and it would start all over again. That the weight of her situation would once again fall upon her shoulders, hard and heavy. But in this moment, this one, tiny, fleeting little moment, Clara felt safe.

Tarron cocked a brow at her quietness. “Hey.” he said, cocking his head. “You good?”

Clara turned her head to stare at him, everything that she ever wanted to say and express hanging in the space between them. But somehow, there wasn’t a need for a big display. For the first time in a long, long time, she was quite content to simply nod in return. “Yes.” she said. “I really am.”


	9. First Impressions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clara meets Tarron and Dula for the first time. Things don't go exactly to plan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *spooky noises* OoOoOo! A Flashback chapter! oOoOoOo!  
> I hope you all enjoy! Now I KNOW I said I wouldn't be updating until next week but it turns out I'm away until at least next Thursday and I couldn't go that long, I had so many ideas in my head! So I've borrowed a laptop and I've thrown this one together - I hope you enjoy it!
> 
> P.S - I cannot express how much I appreciate everyone who has read so far, offered Kudos or left a Comment - it's genuinely made these last few days wonderful getting a notification about it - so, thank you so much!

“Attention, may I have all your attention for just a moment? Yes, that includes you Naveen, kindly and _carefully_ lower Mina back to ground level, thank you.”

Tarron glanced over from his work, one hand holding up a book of Transmutation, the other pointed squarely at a candle, the wick unlit and the wax still. Professor Lazlov, an older man whose hairline was being threatened with an invasion of grey on the border, raised a hand to the rest of the first year students in the room. 

“Thank you.” he said, looking over his rimless glasses at the class. “This will be but a moment - I will introduce the newest member of your class to you and then you may continue your practices.” He turned to the doorway, curling a hand in silent invitation, stepping aside to allow for space. 

Tarron looked on as a young half elf stepped through, looking every inch the opposite of how a wizard should usually dress. Despite his sudden growth spurt that had recently begun, she would barely come up to his shoulder if she were to stand next to him and upon closer inspection, wore black heeled leather boots to give herself a slight height advantage. Her hair, an interesting silver shade, was thrown up in an extremely tight bun, the skin on her forehead tight and taught. And although she did not wear the standard wizard robes that they had been given on their first day, she was dressed in a sharp, military style jacket with a matching skirt that fell just past her knees. Her eyes, a subtle grey, scanned the room in what Tarron perceived to be utter boredom and he instinctively felt a flash of annoyance surge through him. What sort of rich family paid off the Academy to allow this girl to barge in, four months into their first year when she clearly didn’t want to be here in the first place? He paused, stilling the thoughts that swirled in his mind. He didn’t know a single thing about her, perhaps she was just very shy? He should at least perhaps try to get to know her a little better, if at all, before making a judgement of her character.

“Please, Miss DeLevin.” Professor Lazlov encouraged, nodding his head to the myriad of faces before them. Some shared Tarron’s initial irritation, clearly coming to the same conclusion as he. Others either hadn’t clicked or were being awfully optimistic, instead looking on in curiosity. “Introduce yourself.”

DeLevin? That name set off a click in Tarron’s brain, the name seemingly so familiar on the tip of his tongue. Just out of reach however, he watched as the ‘DeLevin’ girl strode in sharp, strong steps towards the centre of the circular classroom, coming to a stop before turning on her heels. Ah, Tarron thought. Perhaps she’d be better off in the city barracks, she certainly had the posture down already. The half elf girl seemed to pause for a moment before making up her mind, raising her head and squaring her shoulders.

“Good morning.” she said, voice unwavering and betraying not a single drop of emotion in the slightest. “My name is Clara DeLevin. I am seventeen years of age and hail from Baldur’s Gate. Unlike yourselves, I was born with magic abilities and thus am already capable of several spells and cantrips. However, I wish to better myself and my skills for the good of my family and our business, hence I have been very kindly allowed to participate in your classes from today.” She gave a small bow, stiff and unnatural before rising back up and staring around her. “I apologise for interrupting your studies, please, continue at your leisure.”

Turning sharply to the left on her heels once more, she inclined her head at Professor Lazlow, who looked rather weary after her small speech, and headed straight for one of the tables in the room. From her jacket pocket she produced a rather fancy looking embossed notebook and quill, placing them neatly upon the surface before heading towards the large curved bookshelves that encompassed the room as if she’d been there for weeks. 

Tarron felt a ripple of resenting mutters sound throughout the room, as all eyes were quickly fixed upon their interloper in mutual disagreement. She already had magic? Why on earth was she here? And for that matter, why couldn’t she just get a fancy magic tutor - she could clearly afford such a thing. He glanced around, meeting the eyes of his fellow classmates and watched as they all shared similar thoughts, their facial expressions giving away their annoyance and irritation. 

Miss _DeLevin_ , however, had already acquired four books, each a different school of magic and had seated herself at the desk, her head firmly fixed upon the pages of the first. Looking around and seeing how no one else seemed keen to make acquaintances, Tarron threw the towel in, leaving his candle and book behind for a brief moment and approached her quietly.

“Ah...hello?” he said, trying and failing to seem smaller than he was. He’d been told by Dula that towering over people tended to put them off, but to her credit Clara didn’t look the least bit fussed as her head rose from the pages of the book, staring him head on. “Tarron Vafir.” he continued, sticking his hand out at an awkward angle. “Pleasure to meet you...Clara?”

“My name is not a question.” Clara responded, taking his hand in her own and shaking it three times in quick succession. Satisfied with her perfected handshake, she left his loose grip immediately. “But it is a pleasure to meet you, Mr Vafir.” She tilted her head to the side, looking past him to where his items lay. “Transmutation.” she mused, lidded eyes blinking slowly. “Interesting. Which particular spell are you working on?”

“Uh…” Tarron paused, taken completely off guard by the most unfeeling greeting he’d ever received. “I’m working on uh...Prestidigitation at the moment, lighting the flame and changing the colour of the candle.”

“I see.” the DeLevin girl said. “That’s a very good spell to learn, especially for a beginner.” 

Tarron squinted, ignoring the irritation in his chest. “Thanks?” he said. “Perhaps we could share tips about it, especially if you’re new to it or new to the class-”

“You misunderstand.” Clara interrupted him, her blank eyes staring right through his person. “I already know that spell and for that matter, learning together would prove unsatisfactory for the both of us, as we are quite different. Should you want to discuss a different, more advanced spell however, I am all ears.”

With that, she turned back to her book, turning the next page, the conversation seemingly over.

Tarron looked, then _glared_ . Who did this girl think she was? She was hardly an Archwizard and seemed to carry herself as if she rose far above the rest of them. Sorcerers, he thought, turning away back to his own work. Their superiority complex was infuriating. But as Lazlov had said once, nothing good in magic ever came from extreme emotions. Forcing himself to breathe out and remain calm, Tarron turned his back, focusing once more on the candle. There were so many of them in the class, it would be easy to ignore her, of course it would. How hard could it be?  
  


Unfortunately, it was not as simple as he thought. Hours later, the room had been darkened, thick velvet curtains covering the windows and as the lanterns were briefly snuffed, the students gathered in the centre of the room. Lazlov stood to the side, watching as they all took turns in casting Light upon an ordinary looking clear glass orb placed on a table. Tarron watched with interest how others performed the trick in variations of success. In some cases, the light flickered faintly before fading out, barely an attempt. In other cases the light sparked, angry and unstable, far too bright, far too _angry_. Uncontrollable, it eventually burst in a shower of sparks, some onlooking students having to take several steps back to avoid their robes getting scorched. After many turns had passed, Clara stepped forward, eyes fixed firmly on the orb before lifting a hand gently and rotating her wrist upon the cool glass surface, almost as if she was turning a dial. Her lips moved, quietly vocalising the invocation and as smooth as silk, light gently began to emanate from the glass. As her wrist turned, the brightness increased. Satisfied with her own performance, she stepped back, looking to the Professor for approval. 

To his credit, Lazlov had seemingly gathered the disapproving energy that circled through the room since Clara’s admittance and instead settled for a simple nod of the head, gesturing to Tarron. “Tarron.” he smiled, his wrinkles surrounding his eyes crinkling. “You did excellently last week with this, let’s see how you’ve improved.”

A compliment from Lazlov? Tarron’s head could not have been larger if he tried. He stepped forward confidently, having to almost bend in half to reach down and touch the orb. As he sent magic to his fingers and recited the incantation under his breath, he made the fatal mistake of looking up and meeting the gaze of none other than Clara. As per usual, her grey eyes looked unimpressed and blank, completely bored with the task now that she had taken her turn and it had gone perfectly. Despite his best wishes he felt a flash of annoyance at the last second, sending far too much magic into the orb. To his complete shame, he watched in dismay as the orb sparked angrily before fading out, his pride falling with the sparks to the floor. Raising his head, he shot a glare of irritation right to the half elf in front of him, the anger only rising as she stared back head on, not fussed in the slightest. 

“Well, that’s alright.” Lazlov cut in, hastily plucking the warm orb from the table. “That should be it for today. Remember to practice your Cantrip invocations and I expect the essay for spell components to be on my desk by the end of the week.” He waved a hand towards the door, eager to clear the air of the tension. “Be well, students.”

Tarron got a few sympathetic and understanding looks from the rest of the class as he moved to grab his things, shoving them into his satchel. Feeling thoroughly humiliated, he was halted in his fierce stride towards the exit by a hand catching him on the arm. 

“Tarron.” Clara - of _course_ it was Clara - said, trying to meet his gaze from her low position. “I wanted to-”

“Look.” Tarron cut her off, moving her tiny hand away with a bat of his own. “It’s great that you’ve got magic from birth and all, but that doesn’t make you any better than the rest of us. You stumbled on yours by accident, but we _chose_ this path. We’re happy to have you in the class, but get off your high horse.” He glared at her. “I know you’re not used to being talked to like that, especially if you’re used to getting your own way - but we do things a bit different here. Perhaps you should adapt quickly.”

Before she could get another word out he moved, his long legs carrying him swiftly out through the door and down the hall, heat burning a hole through his stomach.

“Hah.” Dula remarked, stuffing another biscuit into her mouth. “You’ve met her then?”

Tarron groaned, his face firmly planted on their usual lunch table in the dining hall. “I _tried_ to be nice.” he grumbled. “You should have seen her. She said we couldn’t even practice together because we were ‘different’. Clearly she thinks that means a different level. She’s just...so.. _ugh_!”

Dula nodded, shifting her seated position on the table’s surface, feet coming to rest upon the bench. “If you think that’s bad, she came into our Herbcraft class this morning and told Professor Faramire to her _face_ that she was mixing the Burnsoothe Ointment wrong.”

Tarron blanched, knowing full well the infamous wrath of Professor Faramire. “She didn’t.”

“Oh, she did. I genuinely thought Faramire was going to explode, she had veins popping right out of her neck. And Miss Fancy Pants didn’t give a shit! Just stood there like a fucking statue before taking her seat and acting like she’d always been there!” Dula cackled, the noise reverberating through the space. “Holy shit, if she came into the Academy with a plan to become the most hated student she’s really doing something right.”

“Like, being arrogant to us, that’s one thing.” Tarron observed. “But to an actual _Professor_ ? What’s wrong with those sorts of people?”

  
  
“You’ll never guess the kicker though.” Dula said, her grin stretching from ear to ear. “Turns out, she was _right_ . Someone had accidentally swapped the vials around - Faramire wasn’t putting in wormroot, she was putting in _snake venom_.”

Tarron looked up at her, wide eyed. “Holy shit.” he sounded. “Whoever tried that poultice out would’ve been in the infirmary for at least a week.”

“Faramire was genuinely lost for words when she realised what had happened.” Dula went on, reaching over to Tarron’s bag to swipe another biscuit. “Muttered about her glasses being foggy and the vial's glass being too opaque. And the new girl didn’t say a damn thing about it, just carried on writing.” Nibbling on her newly acquired treat, the dwarf paused. “You think she’s a spy?” she said, whispering _far_ too loudly for only Tarron to hear. “What if...what if she’s undercover?”

Tarron sighed, steeling himself to work through another ‘Dula Conspiracy’. Whilst he treasured his friendship with his dwarven friend more than anything else in the world, and for the most part admired her fiery spirit and strong-headed way of thinking, sometimes she thought a little _too_ out of the box. And such was the case now as he glanced at her, figuring out how to phrase his next words without invoking her ire.

“A spy for what, exactly?” he asked, quickly grabbing his last few biscuits before Dula could pounce one more time. “And if she _were_ a spy, surely she’d be faculty. Come on, Dula. This one’s not got much weight behind it.”

“Hrmph.” Dula pursed her lips, twirling one of her braids with a finger. “All I know is, it’s a bit fucking weird she showed up four months into our first year and acts like _that_.” she scoffed, leaning back on one hand. “Maybe it’s just those fancy rich idiots uptown. Who knows what sorts of stuff they’ve barrelled into their kids.”

Tarron opened his mouth to reply, but movement out of the corner of his eye caused him to turn just in time to see-

Ah. Shit.

There she was, standing before them with her fancy book clasped around her chest, her fancy boots polished and pristine with her fancy outfit and her fancy hair and just _fancy, fancy, fancy-_

“Hello.” Clara said, looking at both of them with an unreadable expression. “I believe we may have come to a misunderstanding earlier. If permitted, I would like to rectify it.”

Immediately on guard with any newcomer that came into her vicinity, Dula’s eyes narrowed. Swinging her broad legs down to the floor, she stood before Clara in a pose that absolutely screamed ‘Back The Fuck Off’: legs spread wide, arms folded and an intensely guarded expression. “So. You’re talking shit about my friend?” she retorted. Tarron resisted the urge to groan. Whilst he doubted he would ever find a more loyal friend than Dula, it appeared she had never heard of the phrase ‘adding fuel to the fire’. Or either, she had, but just didn’t care. 

“Of course not.” the half elf girl responded, adjusting the grip on her notebook. “I barely know him. Why would I insult someone who has done nothing to me whatsoever?”

At that, Tarron rose to his feet, looking on in mild satisfaction as Clara was forced to crane her head upwards to meet his gaze. “You said we were on different levels back in class.” he argued, standing next to Dula. “You acted as if you were better than every single person there. Like I said before, I don’t care where you got your magic from. But acting superior and arrogant on your first day won’t get you many friends around here.” he sucked in a breath, trying to stop himself from going overboard as he stared her down. “I tried to be friendly to you, but you completely brushed me off!”

Silence ensued between the three as Clara took it all in, blinking slowly. “It seems I was right, there was a misunderstanding.” she said, watching as both the elf and the dwarf before her bristled. “I did not say we were on different levels, I said we were _different_. You are right, you did not have magic from birth. I however, did. Magic is not the same for every person, especially when it comes to the source of it. The way I use my magic is different to yours, not better, but simply different. That is why I initially rejected your offer of working together on the Prestidigitation Cantrip. We would cast it in such different ways that trying to learn alongside each other would prove a waste of time. But a different, more advanced spell - one neither of us have learnt yet? That is something we could learn together. That...that is what I meant.”

She shifted, looking away for a second before meeting their gaze once more. “I am…” she paused. “Aware of my brash and upfront nature. It is simply natural in the DeLevin household. But I would like to make clear that I do not mean any ill intent towards you or anyone else here. I simply want to learn from like-minded people.”

“Wait.” Dula spoke up, her eyes widening. “DeLevin? Like...big, fancy, rich-ass Sorcerer family DeLevin? The one uptown in the big, fancy, rich-ass estate?”

Clara blinked. “That’s the first time I’ve heard of us described in such a way, but yes. The very same.”

That same bell rang again in Tarron’s head and he squinted. Rich and fancy? That was expected, just from her appearance alone. No...there was something about her _specifically_ that rattled around in his brain, but he simply couldn’t quite grasp it.

“Huh.” Dula muttered, giving Tarron a quick glance. “And you weren’t trying to start anything before?”

“Never.” Clara agreed, bobbing her head. “You are both very talented in your fields. I...apologise if it came off that way. But if possible, I would like to-”

“Oi! Half Breed!”

The trio turned in time to see Second Year Maryden Pluckly barrelling down through the table aisles, her nostrils flared and her face red as a tomato. She stopped, mere inches from Clara’s face, towering over the half elf menacingly. Clara hadn’t moved aside from turning her head, eyes burning straight through the human’s. “Can I help you?” she asked. 

Maryden’s teeth bared as she widened her stance, making herself look as big as possible. “What shit am I hearing about you setting fire to my little sister’s hair in her Invocation class?”

“Hey, Maryden.” Dula interrupted, taking a few steps towards the pair. “Chill the fuck out, we’re in the middle of-”

“Fuck off, _dwarf_ .” Maryden spat, eyes shooting towards Dula angrily. “For once, I’m not here to deal with you or _stick insect_ over there, so keep your mouth shut.” 

“It wasn’t real fire.” Clara responded, fully turning to face the snarling older girl. Glancing out of the corner of her eye, she noticed Dula’s face growing an interesting shade of purple, with Tarron trying to console her quietly, giving Clara a worried glance. “It was simply a Minor Illusion Cantrip.”

“Whatever the hell it was.” Maryden scoffed. “What’s wrong with you? You think you’re so good with your rich background, what gives you the right to do something like that?”

Clara’s posture remained rigid and immovable, despite the fact that she was feeling the human’s hot, angry breath blowing right into her face. “Your sister was making defamatory remarks about those of us here who are not human.” she said. “I asked her to stop multiple times, but she continued, even directing some sharp comments at myself. Naturally, the next course of action from there was to frighten her into closing her mouth.” Looking over once more at Dula and Tarron she continued. “And I would ask you to refrain from similar comments to these two. It’s clear you have no manners or tact but that does not mean they deserve to be treated with your rot.”

At that, Maryden grabbed the collar of Clara’s jacket roughly with one hand, her other poised in a fist. The sudden jerk caused Clara to drop her notebook, the loud thud echoing through the now completely silent hall, as all eyes were fixed on the commotion in the corner. “Yeah?” Maryden asked, her mouth curling in a wicked smile. “I don’t see anything wrong with what my sister said, if anything she was _right_ . You fucking lesser races are making this city even worse than before. And _you_.” she shook Clara roughly, eyes livid. “I know all about _you,_ the DeLevin bastard. Daddy dearest knocked up a servant and here you are! You think you’re so high and mighty with your fancy outfit but in truth you’re just as disgusting as the rest of-”

Her next words, to everyone’s gratitude, were cut off by the sight of Dula driving a closed fist directly into Maryden’s face. The impact caused the human to cry out as she released Clara quickly, stumbling back a few paces in surprise. At the sudden change in her balance, Clara wobbled precariously before a pair of hands caught her gently by the shoulders. Looking up, she saw Tarron behind her, eyes staring in ferocity at Maryden, who now had to deal with Dula’s livid frame approaching her quickly. 

“Touch her again and I’ll break your fucking jaw!” Dula yelled, clenching both fists. “Who the _fuck_ do you think you are, coming over here and starting shit?!” She spat at the floor, posture shifting into a defensive stance. “Try anything else and you’ll wake up in the infirmary human, I swear to the Gods.”

Maryden cradled her cheek, pure poison radiating at the three before her as she sized up her chances. Silence radiated throughout the dining hall for a long moment, neither party moving from their respective positions. Finally, in what felt like an age, Maryden rose to her full height and with a loud sniff from her nose, proceeded to stride away haughtily. Or at least, she would have if she hadn’t slipped on a conspicuous patch of ice, falling directly on her face with a loud curse. Within seconds the hall exploded into laughter, students pointing and grinning at the sight of the big headed human girl sprawled on the floor. Scrambling up, her face bright red and tears prickling in her eyes, Maryden screeched, turning to bolt out of the hall, the sound of jeering and taunting following her every step. 

After several minutes of cackling from every corner of the hall, the noise subsided. Now that the main event was over, students returned to their lunches, discussions about what they had just seen falling from multiple mouths, clearly to be woven into a much more exaggerated tale. Dula turned from her spot to see Clara, one glowing hand still outstretched in the direction of the ice patch and Tarron, rooted to the floor in a mixture of shock and amusement. He blew out a breath, still not quite believing what happened as Clara took a few steps away, looking between the elf and the dwarf. “Was that too far?” she asked, lowering her hand. “My first day seems to be going as well as I predicted.”

Dula let out a barking laugh, heading over to clap Clara on the back heartily. The half elf almost stumbled under the weight of Dula’s hand as the dwarf grinned. “Maryden’s been picking on the non-human first years since the beginning of the year.” she explained. “A lot of the new students didn’t want to pick a fight because they were worried about being expelled.”

“Dula wasn’t so worried.” Tarron piped up, the makings of a smile stretching over his face. “She would have broken Maryden’s nose once if I hadn’t held her back.”

“You should have let me!” Dula argued, her smile turning predatory. “We’ll see how big she talks with a broken jaw instead!”

Shaking his head in mild amusement, Tarron stood down to pick up Clara’s notebook from the floor. “Was...Maryden right?” he asked, watching as Clara turned to face him. “I thought I’d heard something about the DeLevin family but...rumors can be just that.”

“No, she was right.” Clara responded, taking her notebook back with a quiet ‘thank you.’ Looking between the two before her she paused, unsure of how to continue. “My mother was a servant at the DeLevin estate and my father...well. I suppose you get the picture.”

The bell finally, clearly rang out in Tarron’s head as it all came together. Of course! Everyone and their grandmother had heard about the DeLevin controversy, where a human noble coupled with his servant, accidentally producing a child. Apparently, he’d tried to cover the whole thing up but the elven woman wasn’t having it, she’d gone around the whole city, shouting from the rooftops, talking to every other noble and making it very clear as to what had happened. She’d passed away a week or so after the birth, however, due to health complications and all eyes had immediately been on DeLevin in scrutiny. He’d had no choice but to take the child in as his own, giving her up would have caused a public scandal he couldn’t afford. And said child was here, right in front of him. 

“That’s...wow.” he responded, taking it all in. “I’m sorry.”

Clara tilted her head. “What for?” she asked. “You had nothing to do with the events. All I can do is represent my family to the best of my ability. There have been magic tutors in my younger days before...before my magic finally calmed down by itself when I was eight, but I would much rather learn from my peers and experience all variations of magic alongside you.”

She glanced to the right, making sure the exit was clear of any angry and slightly iced humans before looking back at them both. “I hope that our misunderstanding has been rectified.” she murmured, bowing her head somewhat. “Please enjoy the rest of your day.”

“Wait, what?” Tarron asked, lightly catching her by the arm as she made to move away. “You don’t want to eat lunch with us?”

“Yeah, holy shit the _look_ on Maryden’s face!” Dula grinned. “Come on, sit down - Tarron’s got some really nice homemade biscuits, you’ve gotta try one.”

They watched as Clara paused, the cogs turning in her head. Finally she conceded, placing her notebook carefully down on the table before taking a seat, smoothing her skirt along her knees. 

“Okay so, what was the sick move you just pulled to get Maryden to trip? Fucking brilliant!”

“Oh, a simple Ray of Frost Cantrip.”

“Ohhhhhh, I think we’re covering that in a few weeks. Mind giving me some pointers? Tarron could use them too, he’s good at Evocations.”

“I’m not sure if it would work-”

“Clara! Come on! You won’t know till you try.”

“...Very well. Hm...these biscuits are quite lovely.”

“Right?!”

“Gods, will you two leave my snacks _alone_?”

“Well, stop bringing such delicious food to lunch then!”

“You two are...very loud.”

“Don’t worry Clara, you’ll get used to it.”

-

“Remember to keep an eye on the treeline.” Clara said for the fifth time that hour, adjusting her pack on her shoulders. “And don’t let anyone wander off the road when you go.” 

Tarron rolled his eyes good-naturedly, his hand coming down to give her head a soft pat. “Thanks, Mum.” he grinned, letting go. “Are you going to remind me to clean my room, too?”

“What’s the point?” Clara shot back. “You never do it.”

Leaning against the doorway to the tavern, Tarron laughed. “Fair enough. Hey, look - you guys look after yourselves too. Sounds like you’ve got a bit more of a journey to finish than we do.”

Nodding in agreement, Clara looked behind at her group, who were in variations of waiting. Shadowheart met her eyes, giving her a ‘hurry up!’ signal with her hands. Astarion was doing a tremendous job of pretending he hadn’t got six of the tavern’s best wine bottles stuffed in his pack and under his arms. Lae’zel and Wyll were arguing loudly about the direction to take, be it the Goblin Encampment or the Mountain Pass where Githyanki had been spotted and Gale had his head deep in the map, the lines on his forehead creasing in thought. Clara turned back to Tarron, her arms coming out to embrace him tightly. “Take care of yourself.” she whispered. “I’ll see you soon.”

“You’d better.” Tarron replied, returning her squeeze with double the force. “I’m not going to be the one to tell Dula any bad news. Oh!” he drew away, fixing her with a devilish grin and a waggle of his eyebrows. “And good luck with the Wizard, by the way. He’s got the puppy eyes down perfectly, nice catch Clara.”

He looked on in amusement as Clara went dead silent, her deadpan gaze burning a hole through his eyes. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” she said finally, giving him a small wave as she turned away. “The alcohol from last night has clearly affected your brain.”

  
“Oh of course!” Tarron called, his long arm waving as she retreated. “I absolutely won’t be pestering you for the details later on! Take care! Don’t get eaten by Goblins!”

Shadowheart’s annoyed expression morphed into a curious one as Clara sped past. “What was that about?” she enquired, a smirk stretching over her face. “Something to confess?”

“Nope.” Clara said, giving Shadowheart a side eye before pulling Lae’zel and Wyll apart. “Alright everyone, let’s get moving. That Druid isn’t going to rescue himself.”

With a few grumbles from the Githyanki and several smug expressions from Wyll, the group moved out. Gale came to walk alongside Clara, looking down at her with a smile. “Tarron seems nice,” he remarked. “You’ve got a good friend there.”

Clara gave one last look back at the tavern, quickly hiding from view behind some trees. “Yes.” she replied softly. “I really, really do.”


	10. Opening Up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Doors are opened. Feelings are revealed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Definitely not singing the Waitress song as I wrote this Chapter's title)  
> Aaaah hello again! Listen guys it's been a WEEK, am I right? With the election results (thank gOD) and my favourite game series of all time getting a remaster (Let's go Mass Effect let's goooo) I had so much energy that I didn't know what to do with, so I've thrown it into this! 
> 
> As always thank you so much for reading, for commenting and for leaving kudos. I see all of it and it genuinely gives me more fuel to keep writing. I hope you all enjoy this and I hope you all stay safe and well! <3

The first time Clara had suspicions came about when Gale had commented on the appearance of her robe. Such a small, easily throwaway thing but in hindsight it gave her pause. She’d recently acquired it, a deep blue fabric with light grey accents over the poofy sleeves and shoulders. It wasn’t just a materialistic purchase, mind. Their last scrap with a pack of Gnoll had torn her green ensemble to shreds, along with the upper part of her right arm. Luckily, Shadowheart was as skilled with her healing as she was her sharp tongue. Unluckily, those skills did not extend to needlecraft. They’d stopped back in the druid grove for supplies and she’d spied it stuffed in the back of a crate. After briefly using a hidden, shadowy corner to pull the blue robe over her head, she’d notice Gale’s gaze as she returned, a slight smile alighting his lips. “It suits you.” he’d told her. “Not as stylish as purple, of course - but it truly is a lovely colour for a lovely lady.”

That had barely garnered any further questioning. He’d observed Shadowheart’s eyes in curiosity when they first met, something the Cleric was none too thrilled about. Clara assumed it was just part of his wizardly charm, giving it no further thought. Until now, of course.

The second occasion took place after slightly dire circumstances. The man had a bloody _fail safe_ in the case of his untimely death and she, inwardly bewildered and incredibly concerned, had to follow a series of steps to return him to the mortal plane. The magma mephit had given her an unimpressed look, similar to how a parent would give a child if they’d broken a toy. Its brief period of judgement over, it threw a stream of Infernal words at her. How she wished she’d taken the time to study it. She caught the odd word, _Gale_ being one of them and wondered what other infernal-related holes the man had managed to dig himself into. She’d had to step far back whilst reciting the scroll of True Resurrection, ominous necrotic energy seeping from Gale’s every pore, flowing over the stones beneath his still form. 

Flying immediately to his side upon his reawakening, she was surprised still to see him grinning broadly as he wheezed, oxygen an unfamiliar notion to his lungs. Although his illusion had promised a handshake it seemed Gale himself decided to go further, sweeping her down into a tight embrace, his shoulders shaky with laughter and adrenaline and his hands warm as they crossed over her back. Clara, not entirely sure how to properly comfort someone who had just _returned from the dead_ , settled for a returning squeeze, trying to ignore how warm his cheek was next to hers and how, despite his previous lack of life, smelt so wonderfully of lavender. 

“You did it!” he’d cried, releasing her as swiftly as he’d embraced her, helping her up from the floor with a hand. “My word, you actually did it!”

“Was there any doubt?” Clara had replied, taking one large step back. Unfortunately for her, the lavender smell followed nonetheless. “That was...quite a protocol you have set up.”

“Thank you!” Gale smiled, letting out a few last steadying breaths before moving to pick up his things. “A little detailed to be sure, but I would rather give you all the information than only a portion of it - you’re less likely to fail that way.”

Suddenly, he’d grown uncharacteristically quiet, moving to hold her hand with a gentleness she’d only seen in those sappy romance books left in the back of taverns. “Thank you, Clara.” he’d murmured, staring deep, deep into her eyes. “This seems to be the second time you’ve brought me back from the brink.” His grip tightened as he leaned down. “I cannot express how important it was that you brought me back. Clara, you are truly _wonderful_ . I-” Gale paused, gripping her hand for support. Clara felt unsaid words hovering in the air between them, the tension so thick that Lae’zel could easily cleave through it before the Wizard finally settled on another squeeze of the hand and a gentle smile. “ _Thank you_.” he said in earnest, turning away with one last look of gratitude to see to his things.

Clara would have never called herself a romantic. Pragmatist? Almost certainly. Logical? Most definitely. But in that moment, with the lavender even stronger than before in her nose, the warmth of Gale’s hand fading from her own and the overwhelmingly joyous look he had given her made a seed of warmth blossom into her chest, the usual mixed concoction of emotions and tension she held there forced to crawl away from the heat it produced. Unfortunately for her, Shadowheart had seen the entire exchange and, watching as Gale moved away, only to leave Clara standing motionless, her face a blank canvas as ever - the resident Cleric decided it was high time to throw her voice into the fray.

“Well, well, well!” she’d called out as she approached, watching out of the corner of her eye how Gale’s frame stiffened and how quickly Clara’s head had turned in the opposite direction, their bubble of intimacy quickly burst. “As much fun I have with watching you two flirt terribly, may we get a move on before it gets too dark? I’d hate to have to deal with further trouble and I doubt Gale has another one of those scrolls on hand so fast.”

“Sadly not!” Gale grinned widely, trying to metaphorically squeeze past the gigantic elephant that had placed itself right in his way. “It is a rather ingenious spell that I used, might I add. That’s not something you’ll get from an everyday run of the mill Wizard!”

Shadowheart had merely raised a brow, seeing right through his bravado. With a quirk of her lips and a roll of her eyes she’d moved away, giving one last glance around the area before they left. Clara watched as Gale turned back to her, his warm smile returning. Reaching out to pat her once on her shoulder he followed Shadowheart, throwing himself into a ramble about the extreme complexities surrounding his fail safe protocol, much to the dissatisfaction of Lae’zel who had been waiting irritably for them at the end of the road. 

Clara, head positively swimming at the notion that Gale hadn’t denied any flirting whatsoever, still trying to calm down the minor storm in her head, followed on quietly behind them. Her eyes naturally landed on Gale’s back as they walked, trying to fight down the million and one questions that sat impatiently on her tongue. But, as her logic reared its somewhat ugly head and reminded her, perhaps it was a fluke. Being brought back from the dead tended to bring out extreme, overzealous reactions in people. Of course, that was it. Merely the adrenaline. Definitely.

The final nail in the coffin for Clara’s suspicions lay during a similar encounter, though not at Gale’s expense. Rather, her own. They’d come across a pack of bandits and whilst Wyll and Astarion took the frontline, skewering and weaving through enemies with ease, she and Gale were positioned behind them on a high ledge, throwing offensive and defensive spells down with relative ease. She’d been so focused on holding the bandit leader still, her hands clenched tightly in the air as he’d struggled against the magical bindings, that she’d completely missed the loud, thundering footsteps of a second bandit clad in heavy plated armour and dragging the largest club she’d ever seen in her entire life. The last thing she remembered was hearing Gale suddenly call out in alarm before something incredibly heavy and hard collided with her head, sending her plummeting to the ground below. She heard something crunch as she hit the floor with a loud _Thump_ , none of her limbs responding to her desperate urges to get far, far away from whatever had just hit her. Panic seized in her chest, an emotion that was her magic’s worst enemy. True to form, despite her best and weakened efforts, no amount of magic would spring forth from her fingers to save her and her lips felt numb, incapable of reciting any spells. A pressure, slowly but steadily made itself known on the left side of her head, the side that had taken the brunt of the fall and the world seemed to blur around the edges as she blinked owlishly, struggling to stay awake. 

Everything seemed muted, cold and so...so very heavy. It seemed so much easier to just close her eyes and sleep. Surely, that would be alright? She’d wake up feeling _much_ better. Of course she would. The sounds of the bandits screaming, the slicing of Astarion’s blades and Wyll’s magical invocations seemed to slip away, dripping down into the recesses of her mind. Darkness covered her like a blanket as her lids slipped shut, happy to sink into sublime sleep.

Sleep that was sharply broken by a pair of hands grasping her roughly, her form hauled up onto something solid. She felt a hand pat her face, sharp and quick movements but could not bring herself to force open her eyes. Her lids felt like weights had been placed upon them and it seemed implausible that she’d ever open them again. Like a ragdoll, she was moved once again, her face being buried into something warm and soft. The scent of lavender hit her nose sharply - making sleep all the more inviting. The muffled voice spoke low again, almost as if chanting and the words, blurred and hazy seeped beneath her skin, burying themselves inside her damaged muscles and bones. Suddenly, they set themselves alight and she _gasped_ , the world and all of its sounds, scents, feelings coming at her like a charging bull. As if a bucket of ice had been dumped over her, all the nerves in her body were alight and her eyes flew open. It was bright, far, _far_ too bright and she squinted out of reflex. Her chest heaved and her throat ached, trying to inhale as much oxygen as physically possible, pushing out the heavy bile that had gathered in the pit of her stomach. 

Moments passed, the warm hands remaining on her shoulders as she sought to reacquaint herself with living. After what felt like an age her vision finally cleared and she found herself staring up into Gale’s warm eyes, eyes that were clouded in worry. Her gaze must have focused enough to alleviate any further concern because he let out a sharp, relieved sigh, his tensed brow relaxing.

“Gods, there you are!” He’d cried, a stuttered laugh filled with anxiety following soon after. Moving one hand from her shoulder to cup her cheek, her tangled silver locks pressed in between. “You had us all worried for a moment!”

From her position in Gale’s lap, Clara caught the sight of Astarion and Wyll out of the corner of her eye, peering down at her with varying expressions. 

“My word,” Astarion began, and unfortunately for her, Clara didn’t have the strength to tune him out. “We need to keep you spellcasters away from cliff edges, they seem to be your biggest vice.” He grinned, pointed teeth on display as he leered at her. “You should have seen the way you flew down, brilliant form - I would absolutely watch you do it again, if you felt so inclined.”

“You alright?” Wyll asked her, batting away the Vampire Spawn with a hand. “You didn’t move a muscle for a good five minutes until Gale got out a healing spell, and even then it took you a while to be conscious.”

Clara opened her mouth to respond, noting how dry and cracked her lips and throat were. It took more energy than she cared to admit to clear both, barely making out a very soft “...Is anyone else...hurt?”

At that, Wyll dropped his head in exasperation and Astarion sniggered, muttering a few words that she barely caught, ‘Idiot’ being one of them. She felt Gale sigh heavily underneath her, his hand coming up to brush strands of hair from her face. “We’re all fine and well.” he said kindly, looking down at her in fondness. “ _You_ however seem to be suffering from some sort of concussion. You did hit your head pretty hard as you fell.”

“Camp’s not far.” Wyll offered, extending a hand over to Gale. “I’ll carry her if you like - you and Astarion can watch the front and back.”

Gale nodded and Clara shut her eyes tightly as the world rocked on its side, nausea curling around her stomach. Fortunately, as Gale adjusted his position to lift her up with both arms, the wonderful lavender scent she’d come to enjoy filled her senses once again, alleviating the worst of the sickness. 

  
“Apologies.” Gale murmured in her ear, noting her discomfort. “This will only take a minute.”

As she was passed on to Wyll’s back, the Definitely-Not-A-Warlock’s arms came under her as he rose, jostling her a few times to adjust his grip. Clara’s hands linked around his neck out of reflex as she swallowed, fighting back the nausea. “Gods, Clara.” Wyll muttered, giving her a look over his shoulder. “You’re light as a feather - are you eating enough?”

“Mhmmmmm.” Clara replied, feeling the blanket of exhaustion wash over her once more. She plopped her head to rest on Wyll’s shoulder, shutting her eyes tightly. “Plenty.”

“Sure.” Wyll had huffed a laugh, beginning to walk on carefully. “Remind me to make sure you get an extra helping at dinner, you’re basically skin and bones!”

“That won’t do at all.” Astarion piped up from somewhere behind them. “It’s much less fun to bite into something that isn’t soft...and plump.”

The last thing she’d heard was a biting remark from Gale and Astarion’s mocking laughter, teasing the Wizard about something particular before she relented, allowing exhaustion to wash over her into darkness. She’d slept the entire journey back, only being woken by the sound of Scratch’s barking and Shadowheart’s grumblings about the stress of having to keep everyone alive. Gale hadn’t left much of her side, running her through about twenty different questions regarding her health. He’d only stopped when the combined efforts of Shadowheart and Wyll had waved him away, confining Clara to rest. And now, several days later here she sat, fully healed and rested. Everyone except herself and Gale had left to do some foraging (or hunting in Astarion’s case) for that night’s dinner and Clara was thankful for the peace and quiet. She turned a page of her book, one hand giving Scratch an occasional stroke on the head as he snuggled up to her side by the fire, both quite content in their relaxation. Or rather, _outward_ relaxation. Inwardly, Clara was currently undergoing a multi-sided debate concerning a certain bookish Wizard.

He’d been kind to her, incredibly kind given their circumstances. That wasn’t to say she didn’t understand where Shadowheart, Lae’zel and especially Astarion were coming from, their walls reinforced and built high. They’d only known each other a matter of weeks and were clearly all very different - but she appreciated that in their own ways, they’d been willing to help and fight alongside her, despite their usual comments about her light hearted decisions. Gale, however, had been lovely from the start. Witty, intelligent and with an art for the dramatic storytelling, he’d quickly become one of her closest confidants during their time together. It helped that they both had a passion for magic and since he’d asked her to offer him magical artefacts, he’d been even more welcoming after she’d given him a magic sword, an entire soul jar and a book on Necromancy. She would be an idiot to not notice the looks he’d given her, the kind remarks and the occasional touches on her hands or shoulders. Nonetheless…

What the hell did he _want_?

She inwardly cursed, staring into the fire as if it possessed the answers she sought. Clearly Gale was after something. Did he want to drain her of her magical power? It might help his mysterious affliction, and next to himself she was probably the most magical member of the party. Clearly, her negative and equally pessimistic mind devised: he was going to rob her, or do something when she was caught off guard and her defenses fully relinquished. She tried in vain, however, to ignore the tiniest sliver of herself that asked a question that had been on the tip of her tongue for days.

What if...what if he actually _liked_ her?

Stupid. Preposterous and completely inconceivable for a start. Nevermind the fact that they could all die the next day, be turned into Mind Flayers, be eaten by Goblins or annihilated by one of the many enemies they had encountered in this bloody area - what in the nine hells would he ever find attractive about _her_ ? She was as emotional as a rock, never smiled, never frowned or _laughed_ . She was a walking marionette, her voice as flat as unused clay and would never be able to openly return any possible, _hypothetical_ feelings whatsoever. She was useful in combat, had an eye for details and thanks to her oh so charming background, had strong leadership skills. As far as physical appearances went, she supposed the long silver hair might attract some people, but her emotionless stare? How her albeit rose pink lips never turned upwards to smile - not naturally anyway. She’d tried it a few times in the past, smiling - looking at pictures and paintings for a handy reference. How far up the edges of her lips should curl, if she should show her teeth or not. But a fake, hollow smile was easily recognisable and she never had the knack to pull it off. She just looked stupid. So she never bothered, opting instead to use physical actions instead of vocal ones or facial expressions. 

No, it was...ridiculous that Gale, a man of incredible intellect, charm and good looks to boot, would ever see anything remotely attractive in her. Perhaps due to the varying egos in the camp, he sought to at least have one soul he could have a decent conversation with. That must be it, surely. This high-strung, internal debate continued for a good while before the sound of footsteps broke her reverie.

“Dogs.” Gale remarked, looking down at them, cuddled up by the fire with a grin. “Funny things, aren’t they?”

Partially thankful he’d have absolutely no idea what was running through her head, Clara gave Scratch one last pat. “You don’t like them?” she asked, marking her page with a dry leaf before closing the book. When it came to Gale approaching her for a conversation, she knew from current experiences it would never be a short one. 

“Prefer cats, myself.” The Wizard replied, staring off into the night covered woods. “They have a lot more self respect.” he made a face, a thought occurring to him. “And they don’t smell as much.”

“At least you know where you stand with dogs, they either like you or they don’t.” his half elf companion offered, “Cats always leave you guessing their intentions.”

Woops. Perhaps that was a bit too close to the mark as Gale met her gaze, holding it for a precious few moments before extending his hand down to her. “Come with me?” he asked, voice soft and low. “If you would allow me, I would show you something.”

Without even thinking, Clara accepted, allowing herself to be pulled gently to her feet. She heard Scratch give a huff of disapproval before the dog stretched out, glad to be making full use of the fire. As she tended to do instinctively, she met Gale’s eyes once more. His warm brown gaze seemed even more immaculate in the firelight and like the idiot she was, she was completely helpless to resist. Leading her by the hand, Gale walked over to the other side of the camp, untouched by the warmth and light of the campfire. “We spoke before about magic.” he began. “And the wonderful mysteries surrounding it.”

“We did.” Clara said, quietly noting how he hadn’t let go of her hand. 

“From your actions both past and present, you continue to impress me.” the Wizard went on, smiling at her. “I would like to show you a spell to touch the fabric of the Weave itself, if you would allow me.”

“The Weave?” Clara echoed. “Such a spell to make it visual to the naked eye would be-”

“-Quite difficult, yes.” Gale finished for her. “But it is possible, especially with two people as opposed to one.” He finally released her, holding both of his hands up in a strange position. “Would you like to begin?”

Her hand already feeling the chill of the night air, Clara nodded, reflecting his stance. Despite his comments about less than satisfactory students, Gale seemed to be a good tutor - clearly outlining the incantations and hand movements. She exhaled as magic spun its way down her arm, rolling over the muscle and bone of her wrist to settle itself in her palm. With one wide gesture and a decisive “ _Ah-Thran Mystra-Ryl Kantrach-Ao_ ”, she felt a warmth wash over her, curling itself around her form kindly. 

“Finally.” Gale said, his unwavering gaze fixed upon her. “Picture the concept of harmony, as true as you can.”

That was fairly easy. Her time at the Wizard Academy had taught her exactly what to do for this, and she allowed her mind to settle, quelling the ever shifting flurry of feelings that thrashed about in her chest as she closed her eyes and inhaled. It _should_ have been fairly easy. But perhaps it was because she was tired, or perhaps it was the long and arduous discussion she’d had with herself previously but her mind began to wander. Harmony? The truest concept of harmony to _her_ was a dream she only saved for herself on the worst nights, a glowing speck of hope that she shielded from the rest of her pessimism. In hindsight, she should have stuck to the proper procedure but for now, she allowed herself to be greedy, to be selfish. Some may have pictured a happy memory from childhood, others a peaceful, relaxing environment. Instead, she pictured herself...whole. She exhaled, picturing herself no longer fighting against the pressure of over a decade’s worth of emotions trapped in her body. She imagined _laughing_ at someone’s joke, shedding the millions of tears that begged to be released and truly, properly _smiling_ \- not a shred of a lie to be found anywhere.

She must have done something right, because she heard Gale chuckle in admiration. Once more, lavender surrounded her as she felt him gently hold her hand. “You can open your eyes now.” she felt him whisper, right next to her ear. And so she did.

Clara had prided herself in her younger days of reading almost every book in her estate’s library. Long, artful and complex words were absorbed quickly and without much trouble, and she would usually rely on her wide vocabulary to explain or describe something with ease. Up until now, it seemed.

Being no stranger to magic, she had often felt the Weave move through her, usually in the barest whispers. Like a gentle breeze it was often there, but only upon paying close attention did you truly determine it’s path or direction. But before her now, lay the most beautiful sight she had ever looked upon. The Weave was magnificent, a soft, purple shroud that blanketed them both in warmth and security. As if twilight had been taken out of the sky and spread around them, small sparks of light akin to stars swirled around their forms in true bliss at finally being seen. As she reached out a hand to examine it, the Weave poured into her open palm, and she felt lighter as the newer, heightened magic spurred on up her veins to her heart. 

Soon, it was not just her hand, but her entire body, glowing with a soft purple-blue light that pulsed in time with her heartbeat. In that moment, Clara had never before been more at peace, the magic attempting to fill the void in her chest, the part of her that resigned itself never to be whole again. But then...there was something else. A feeling, a feeling that was not her own. Satisfaction and pride burrowed its way through her body, and she turned to see Gale’s smiling gaze fixed firmly upon her. She was wrong before, she thought he was attractive in the firelight. But he’d been right before, when he advised purple was ‘his colour’. As the Weave flowed around her, it fully embraced Gale wholeheartedly, his eyes shining with soft light. He looked as though he’d always belonged in this space, in this moment - reaching out to the Weave the way one might reach out to an old friend. 

“You did it.” he murmured, for once his eyes wandering to look at the glow around them rather than fixing upon her. “Of course you’d do it, Clara. Amazing…”

She inhaled at the feeling of gratitude entering her mind and realised it was not in fact from her, but from _him_. And suddenly she realised they were linked, their feelings like open books to one another. Her heart pounded in her chest and the blood rushed in her head at the thought, her throat unexpectedly tight. Gale had turned his head at the movement, sensing a change in her form. “Clara?” he asked, worry flowing towards her in ripples. “Are you alright?”

“We…” she said, trying to find the words. “You can feel...what I feel?”

“Yes.” Gale smiled. “Isn’t this wonderful? In no other form can people be so connected. Truly...truly magnificent”

Clara exhaled sharply, her head swimming at the thought. She closed her eyes, looking inwardly at herself for something, digging deep down through the layers and finally _there!_ There it was. In addition to her usual barrier, over the years she had crafted herself a secondary one. If she allowed every feeling she had ever had for over the past eighteen years to swirl within her completely scott free, she would be a mess, never having the strength to do anything. And so instead, she’d locked everything up, tight and secure, only allowing something free roam when she had the strength and energy to deal with it. But here she was, her dream right at her finger tips, finally within reach and _she_ had the key to open it- to open _herself_ up. 

And so she did.

Gale had been staring puzzled at his half elf companion for the past few minutes, observing her as she had stood stock still, her eyes closed and breathing quick and sharp. He had performed this spell before...with someone much more powerful than she - but somehow he was receiving barely any emotions from Clara whatsoever. He was about to open his mouth to ask a question before Clara’s eyes suddenly flew open, her usual unwavering, deadpan gaze meeting his own immediately and without hesitation.

And then he felt it.

The wave of emotions that swept over him was almost too powerful to bear. Anger, sadness, happiness, rage, humility and joy, pure, unadulterated _joy_ crashing down upon him in such force that he almost took a step back in shock. Clara stood before him, her expression still blank as ever but her form trembled, easily missed. And the emotions kept coming. He had to remind himself to breathe as they rushed past, again and again - never stopping, always there and always in such ferocity. 

“I…” he gasped, reaching out a hand to clasp Clara’s own tightly. “Clara this...this is how you _feel_?”

Clara stood as still as a statue, her chest rising and falling with the effort of unravelling herself to him. After a long pause it was all she could do but nod once, returning the squeeze of his hand with greater force than ever before. She shut her eyes tightly once more and almost as quick as the tidal wave of emotions hit, it soon disappeared, leaving nothingness in its wake. 

The two figures, cloaked in Weave stood still for several moments, both trying to make sense of what had just occurred. Gale broke the silence first, looking down at her with a mixture of amazement and shock. “I…” he said, shaking his head. “I have so many questions…”

“It is...complicated.” Clara made out. “But that is...that is what I feel all the time.” She paused, looking down at their linked hands. “I know yourself and the others believe me to be strict or...stern. You mentioned before I must have had a tightly controlled education to end up so...unemotional.” At that she raised her free hand quickly, noting how Gale’s mouth had opened in denial. “I know that isn’t the word you used.” she quickly explained. “But it is a word often associated with myself.”

She exhaled slowly, looking around as the Weave curled between them, twining itself around Gale’s thumb as it slowly stroked the back of her hand in comfort. “I promise I will explain another time.” she said. “But I would be remiss if I didn’t thank you, for this. I have never...I have never been able to express how I feel. Ethel came close...so close that I almost took her deal gladly and without complaint. But you…” she reached over, taking his free hand in her own and standing even closer to him than before. Lavender, warmth and the Weave surrounded her in true bliss as she gazed into his eyes - so warm and so tender. “You have given me a gift that I never thought possible. I literally cannot express how much this means to me, Gale. But…” she squeezed his hands tightly. “Thank you.”

“Of course.” Gale murmured, looking down at her as if she were a sudden gem he’d completely missed before. “As I have said many times and rightfully so, you are _wonderful_ , Clara. I...I am sure that we could figure out a way to sort out your problem but I want you to know I like you for _you_. I enjoy spending time with the Clara that I see before me here and now. It would be equally magnificent to know more of you but I…” he paused, a pale pink staining his cheeks as he cleared his throat. “I would have you as you are Clara. Without a moment’s hesitation.”

And suddenly everything Clara had built up, every assumption she had made about herself, about Gale and about _them_ came crashing down in pieces around her. He would willingly take her as she was, cold, emotionless, voice as flat as unused clay, emotions locked away tighter than the kingdom’s jewels. Her heart could not have been more full if she tried and she hoped with all her might that Gale could not hear it. In that moment, so full of gratitude and hope and _happiness_ , she imagined how easy, how simple it would be to reach up on her toes and press her lips to Gale’s. How warm he was, how wonderful he smelled and how it would feel to have his arms wrapped tightly around her. These thoughts lingered for a while until she suddenly saw the blush on Gale’s cheeks deepen, the man turning an interesting shade of red. Realising that he had seen everything she had just imagined she stepped away hurriedly, their hands releasing each other to the cold air of the night. How stupid, how very stupid she was to imagine that he would even so much as think of returning-

Elation. That was the feeling that was suddenly sent rocketing towards her core from the Wizard opposite her, almost knocking her off her feet. “I...I didn’t think.” he stammered, drawing in a shaky breath. 

_I didn’t think that you could feel so similarly._

With a quick and sudden wave of his hand the Weave began to fade away, the lingering whispers coiling around Clara’s cheek. All that was left was the chilled night air, the sound of the crackling fire and them, two people intently aware of each other’s feelings and thoughts.

Clara gave a soft exhale, looking Gale over as he met her eyes once more. “Clara…” he uttered, taking another step towards her. “I…”

“Hey gang!”

And just like that the moment was immediately shattered by Wyll, striding out from some bushes with a deer slung over his shoulder. He grinned at the two spellcasters. “Look who just caught some _pretty_ good game, if I do say so myself.” 

He glanced between them, Gale attempting to wipe the blush from his face and Clara frozen, her eyes glued to the floor. Raising a brow, Wyll stepped closer. “You two alright?” he asked. “It’s a bit cold over here, maybe you should go over by the fire to warm up.” Looking over at the Wizard, he suddenly grinned. “You look a bit dazed there, Gale. Not to worry, a few cooked pieces of _this_ will make you feel much better.”

“I…” Gale stammered, unusually lost for words. Wow, Wyll thought. He must be _really_ hungry if he was like this. Clapping him on the back, he steered Gale towards the fire. “Nah, nah.” Wyll remarked. “No buts, there’s too many of you not eating properly. Let’s sort this out once and for all.”

To his credit, Gale didn’t put up much of a fight, only glancing quickly behind him at Clara, still unmoving. At the last minute she rose her head, meeting his gaze before quickly looking away. A hand quickly came down upon her shoulder and she inhaled sharply, whirling around to see Astarion with possibly the most annoying smirk she had ever seen on his face.

“Someone looks guilty.” he teased, the hand on her shoulder squeezing. “Don’t tell me you two had a bit of fun when we were away?”

Clara had to remember to breathe, staring Astarion down. “Weren’t you supposed to be bringing back food?” she asked.

Astarion blinked, as innocent as he could muster. “Oh, food for everyone _else_ , you meant?” he asked, eyes wide. “You’ll be pleased to know I’ve had _my_ fill.” Quick as a flash his expression changed, his smile predatory as he leaned down to her. “I wonder…” he mused, a finger trailing over her neck. “Have you had yours?”

“Since you’re all back, I’ll do the patrol.” Clara quickly replied, shaking him off her. Astarion didn’t put up a fight, allowing her to step away. “By all means,” he drawled. “But don’t think I haven’t noticed you hadn’t answered any of my questions darling...that only feeds my curiosity.”

Not giving him any more fuel to add to the increasingly growing fire, Clara strode away, grabbing her staff from her bedroll as she stepped through the trees and far, far away from the camp. Her footsteps grew quicker, then quicker still before finally breaking into a full on sprint as she darted through the thick undergrowth. Finally out of sight and hearing of the camp she found a large tree, leaning her head against it with a shaky exhale. The past hour had her mind swimming, her heart pounding in her chest and her stomach tight. There was so much to unpack and to think about, she decided she’d take the longer night shift that night. After all, there was no way in the nine hells she’d sleep. After a few minutes of breathing and fighting back the feelings in her chest she stood tall, moving to continue her proper patrol. Tonight had changed her, she hoped for the better, But a door had been opened, a door that hadn’t even existed before she met Gale. Perhaps now, she mused, creeping further into the woods with warmth, lavender and the minute whispers of the Weave falling in her wake, she finally had a chance to be _better_. Once and for all.


	11. Love Language

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clara is a complete idiot when it comes to romance and everyone knows it.

It was often said that in times of worry, it was prudent to turn to your companions, friends or loved ones for advice. Advice that could range from a friendly chat, encouragement and a second point of view, to disagreement, counterpoints and, more often than not: somehow turning the conversation entirely on its head to something quite different.

Clara had been in relationships before. 

Well…

Hm. Alright: Clara had been courted before, many, many times. 

Uh…

Fine. Clara had been kissed _twice_ in her entire life - once by a boy in a tavern on a dare from his friends to ‘snog the stone face’ and the other, a spur of the moment kiss by a girl who ‘wanted to see what lay under her tough persona’, only to realise that there was, in fact, nothing else under there at all and she soon made her exit. There. The incredibly surprising and shocking secret was out.

The fact of the matter was, she was woefully under qualified to take on the monumental task of courting and, dare she even dream - _kissing_ Gale. Such an idea seemed almost ludicrous in her head - despite the fact that they were now keenly aware of the other’s feelings, and blatantly so. If she were back in Baldur’s Gate, perhaps she would have dragged Tarron and Dula to their usual tavern, regaling them with the story. She’d have used every ounce of her power to ignore Tarron’s blinding grin and Dula’s multiple suggestive hand gestures, but ultimately her two friends would have given her some much-needed advice, and she’d have felt much better for it. But they were not in Baldur’s Gate. If they were, she likely would have never met the Wizard that she had such strong feelings and thoughts for. Feelings and thoughts that, more times than she’d liked to admit, had caused her to have to place her head against a tree for a moment or dunk her head in the lake. Both to alleviate the overwhelming swirl of emotions that now plagued her body, even more so than before. 

Unfortunately, they were stuck in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by a multitude of enemies with squirming tadpoles in their brains. There wasn’t even a helpful library book she could peruse. She’d snuck into the Druid Grove a day prior when they stopped for supplies, running her fingers over the dusty tomes that adorned the shelves. All useless. She doubted ‘Bears 101: Is Your Bear Secretly A Wanted Man In Disguise?’ would contain the wisdom she needed. She’d found a raunchy romance novel being used to prop up an uneven chair leg in the Tiefling camp, ‘The Captain And Her First Mate’ making multiple references to bodices suddenly bursting open with no apparent cause, sunsets that lasted an entire day and so very many euphemisms regarding ship terminology and various body parts.

She needed a plan, some sort of structured list as to how to go about the act of kissing. How in the nine hells did people just...walk up and start? Was it immediate, should she open up with a joke or a magic-related pun? No, definitely not - she was terrible at jokes. She’d never forgotten trying to entertain a child in line at a shop with a witty limerick, only for the child to burst into tears moments later, snot and fat gloopy tears rolling down his face as he wailed and his mother had quickly given her a death stare for interrupting the peace and quiet. 

So, written advice was nowhere to be found, she could hardly use the microscopic amount of experience she possessed as a reference, and there were no _helpful_ people around her to give genuine advice. 

Well....Perhaps…

No. No. A million times _no_. Asking any one of the other group members for advice was almost the worst idea she could come up with.

Astarion would stare at her. Laugh. Stare again. Laugh some more, before asking if she wouldn’t rather have a lover more open to her ‘unique’ personality. He’d offer to take her on a practice run and, should she have a completely understandable change of mind, he was always readily available. She’d leave him, far more irritated than she had been previously, a complete waste of time. Definitely out of the question.

Wyll was probably the safest bet amongst them, and although Clara was sure he wouldn’t _intend_ to give bad advice, she felt it wouldn’t be what she needed. He’d probably say something very sweet, tell her to ‘be herself,’ and everything would just happen naturally. But that didn’t make a lick of sense to her. Being herself was what got her into this mess. Being herself would just leave her stuck, nothing changing at all. She needed _action_ and forward-thinking, not sentimentality, ironic considering the circumstances. 

With those two out of the way, that left…

“Pathetic.” Lae’zel scoffed, tensing her arms as she swung her greatsword high. Using her widened stance for support, she cleaved straight through a goblin’s neck, following the force of her movement with a well-timed duck to avoid another’s slice. Shooting out her leg, she twisted, kicking her opponent’s legs out from under him before quickly impaling him with her blade. “Simply bed him, then move on. Your primitive ways of emotional connection only serve to prove your weakness.”

“Don’t listen to the _Gith_ .” Shadowheart spat from afar. “To take advice from someone like _her_ is foolish.” Bringing her arm up over her head with a sharp turn, her mace came down upon the goblin’s skull, slamming him into the floor with force. Heaving out an exhale, she briefly kicked the unmoving body to make sure he would _stay_ unmoving. “Although I will make one exception in this case.” she admitted, lifting her head in satisfaction. “Considering our current state of events, feelings of such weight are of an extremely low priority right now. Either deal with them or don’t. But ruminating on them takes away focus from the task at hand, and we _cannot_ be idle.”

A goblin screamed in agony as his armour was electrified, searing purple sparks clawing their way up his form and encasing him in a tight, shocking prison. Clara retracted her hand from his face, humming in thought before her foot met his abdomen, sending him sprawling to the ground in tremors. “I am not blind to our situation.” she called out, her head turning back to her companions. “But ignoring these feelings seems equally wrong. I feel that we might perhaps work even better together if some sort of arrangement could be made. That is why I thought to ask you two for help. Left, treeline.” she added, sending an orb of light hurtling in that direction and illuminating the remaining four goblins who were in varying stages of visual regret. 

“Clara, it’s not a business transaction.” Shadowheart called out, planting her feet squarely on the earth. Slamming her hands together, she murmured under her breath, and as if from the heavens a bolt of pure, white-hot light struck down one of the goblins with a burning intensity. “If you both know how you feel, then what’s there to talk about?” she continued, looking on as the goblin yelled out a multitude of expletives. “Follow the sound of incoherent rambling and just kiss the man - perhaps that would finally shut him up.”

“On that, we can agree.” Lae’zel remarked as she sprinted past the cleric, her two hands grasping the grip of her blade tightly. “You would think that his existence depends on how much _t’rac_ falls from his mouth. Boring.” Clara thought she spied a sliver of a grin on Shadowheart’s lips before the Cleric moved, following after the Githyanki to strike down the remaining attackers. 

Clara watched them go, her eyes scanning other bushes and trees around them for any reinforcements, but found none to be seen. Turning away from the sound of yells and weapons clashing, she bent down to inspect the goblin that lay motionless at her feet. Rifling through his pockets she found another healing potion and a few gold pieces, sliding them both into her pack as she heard Lae’zel and Shadowheart reapproaching, both looking rather bored.

“Everything alright?” she asked, eyes scanning their forms, noting how there was nigh a scratch upon them. Lae’zel frowned in response, attaching her greatsword on her back. “This patrol was barely worth the effort of slaying them.” she said, staring Clara down. “If we are to proceed with the act of saving this _druid,_ then we should do so, quickly. Perhaps there might be worthier adversaries in their camp.”

“We’re going there in two days.” Clara reminded her, rising from her position. “Taking out any possible reinforcements to the main camp before then will do us wonders considering the sheer amount of goblins that are there.” Noticing a sly smirk sliding its way over Shadowheart’s face, she inwardly groaned. “Yes?” she said. “What’s the matter?”

“I saw it, you know.” Shadowheart began smugly, turning to walk back to the camp. Clara trailed after her, Lae’zel bringing up the rear with an irritated groan at resuming their previous conversation. “You two have been making eyes at each other for a _long_ time, it’s…” she paused, glancing behind to shoot Clara a condescending smile. “ _Very sweet_.”

“Your support is noted.” Clara muttered. “If it makes either of you feel better, you were quite literally my last options for advice; I’d exhausted every other avenue.”

At that, both the Githyanki and the Shar Cleric stopped, both staring at Clara in befuddlement. “Wait.” Shadowheart said. “You spoke to Wyll or Astarion before _me_? Truly?”

“I thought you didn’t care about my problem.” Clara replied, staring right through Shadowheart. “You seem a tad upset.”

The bait easily taken, Shadowheart scoffed, placing a hand on her hip. “I _don’t_ care.” She clarified. “But you are clearly much less intelligent than I believed you to be if you are taking advice from _those_ two.”

“Of course I haven’t.” Clara said. “I’ve not even asked them, for that matter. Astarion would have died of laughter and Wyll would have recommended something sickly sweet, like...poetry, or a ballad.”

“ _Koshaath Vlaakith._ ” Lae’zel uttered in exasperation from behind them. “Do not dare to perform such a thing in camp. You may not wake up the next morning.”

“Shadowheart, if you think I would be lesser for taking advice from those two...then perhaps, you would give me some tips instead?” Clara offered, staring up at the Cleric. Shadowheart simply glared back at her, an unsaid challenge brewing between the two half-elves. Clara had played this game many, many times before back home. Instead of adding fuel to the fire, you just...waited, letting it burn out until only cinders were left. One thing people hated more than losing an argument was a heavy, uncomfortable, never-ending silence. Since they had met, Shadowheart had displayed a great skill for getting under people’s skin, making them think about their choices and using mind games to avoid answering questions. But in this instance, she was unfortunately outmatched. Clara’s dead-eyed stare bore into her soul, unwavering and unflinching. Lae’zel looked between the two, muttered something about ‘idiots’ and ‘pathetic’ before striding away, opting to scout ahead rather than watch the apparent staring match of the century.

After two minutes, Shadowheart’s eyebrow twitched minutely before the Cleric ripped her gaze away, blinking furiously. “You are incredibly annoying. I hope you know that.” she ground out. “Are you this infuriating to everyone you meet?”

“Just the ones I like.” Clara replied, her own eyes blinking away the strain before patting Shadowheart on the arm gently. “So…” she began, noticing how Shadowheart heaved the largest sigh she could. “Tips?”

“I cannot _believe_ we are having this conversation.”

“The sooner you say something, the sooner it is over.”

“Shar help me…” Shadowheart muttered under her breath before moving to walk next to the Sorcerer as they moved on. “Very well. You both like magic, yes? Do something regarding that.”

“Ah.” Clara mused. “That has...already been done.” She shifted, for the first time not, meeting Shadowheart’s gaze. “I would like to do something different. He has shown me so much, yet I have not given nearly enough back. Perhaps I could find another magical artefact? He seems to like those. What about a new robe? Although, he said purple was his colour, and it’s hard to find fabric that rich out here. Maybe-”

“Clara.” Shadowheart’s hand had settled itself on her shoulder, firm but not unfriendly. Shadowheart gave her a long look. “You are overthinking this, as usual. You have cleared the worst hurdle and _know_ what the other is feeling. Just...see where it goes. Don’t try to rush it.” Her face was almost kind for a moment, before the moment passed, and her expression hardened once more. “And for goodness sake do _not_ recite poetry. If I hear a single flowery word coming out of your mouth at camp, I will not be responsible for my actions. Clear?”

But Clara stared off into the distance, her mind somewhere else.

“Flowery…” she murmured, deep in thought. Shadowheart’s eye’s squinted. “What?” she asked, receiving no reply. Clara’s gaze darted from the bushes and flora around them, back to Shadowheart’s. Looking puzzled, the Cleric simply stared at her for a moment before it clicked and she sighed, rolling her eyes. “No, no _no_.” she stressed. “That’s almost as bad as-”

“Flowers.” Clara said, grasping both of Shadowheart’s shoulders tightly. “That’s it. That’s perfect. Thank you, Shadowheart. You’ve been very helpful.”

Shadowheart’s mouth opened in rebuttal but Clara wasn’t having any of it. Giving her one last squeeze she strode off, passing Lae’zel in determination. The Githyanki raised a brow at the Cleric as she approached, a combination of exhausted and annoyed adorning her face. “What has she done now?” Lae’zel asked in trepidation. “And will I have to kill her for it?”

“Possibly.” Shadowheart replied, shaking her head. “I say let her have it. If we let her tire herself out with these endeavours, perhaps she’ll give up and we can finally concentrate back on the matter at hand.”

Unfortunately for Shadowheart, Clara was never one to give up on something so easily.

She’d often wondered if she needed to do something about Astarion’s unfortunate case of Kleptomania. The vampire spawn always seemed to end up with belongings on his person that was in no way, shape or form, his own. However, in times like these, she was oddly thankful for it. A pile of books lay haphazardly on a small table near one of the tents, spines detailing various herbal ingredients, yet _another_ of Volo’s dratted discoveries and finally...there! She thought she’d seen a book on flower language previously, but hadn’t paid much attention to it. That night, however, she poured over it as if it were gospel, closely examining the detailed drawings of various flora illuminated in the firelight. If one were to gaze upon the camp that night, they would see a young half-elf, eyes firmly fixed on a book, her outstretched hand conjuring a swirl of magic that started to shape into something resembling a bouquet.

She’d barely slept that night, and couldn’t remember the last time she studied up on something so intensely. As soon as the dawn broke, she was up, stumbling over to the lakeside to get herself ready. The morning mist from the water trailed over her bare feet as she stood over it, using the muggy water’s surface as a mirror in a vain attempt to make herself look presentable. After ten minutes of fussing, pulling and smoothing down, she was ready. Picking up her carefully selected bunch of sticks, she cast her incantation. She stood ready and waiting with the illusory bouquet in her hands, glancing down at it briefly only to realise it was- 

An absolute shambles.

She had been so focused on what the flowers _meant_ , that she hadn’t visualised them all together until it was far, far too late to go back and learn new ones. Bold blues, purples, yellows and whites stood out against her pale skin, the small clippings of green marjoram and fern providing a hefty backdrop for the softer, more sensitive flowers. And it was _heavy_ . She hadn’t realised that she should have looked at quality over quantity - the bouquet could probably knock someone out if thrown with strong enough force. Shit, shit _shit_. She looked around wildly, panic crawling up her throat but it was too late - the man of the hour had begun to make his way over, a hand covering his mouth as he yawned. 

She wondered if it was odd that she’d noticed Gale’s morning routine before. The Wizard usually had a slow start to the morning but came around pretty quickly. She’d seen how he preferred to go and stand by the lakeside to take in the morning air, sweeping his slightly dishevelled hair back from his startlingly wonderful face, his eyes lidded and relaxed but always so very tender-

Ahem.

She was getting off track. There was no getting away. If she allowed the bouquet illusion to fade away, he’d question why she was standing there, holding some sticks and staring at him, unusually well-groomed for their stint in the woods. Then she’d have to come up with a story on the fly, and the Gods knew she was terrible at lying, despite her resident poker face. No, there was no backing down. If she didn’t do this now, she’d never do it. All she needed to do was _breathe_ and go for it-

“...Clara?”

Shit.

She’d been too wrapped up in her head to realise he’d come to a stop in front of her, rubbing sleep from his eyes, scanning her form up and down in bemusement. He must have asked her a question or something similar, barely awake in the bleary morning light and there was she, standing fully dressed with a bouquet the size of her head and twice as heavy-looking like an absolute _fool_.

“Ah” she began, forcing herself to drag her eyes to his. “Good morning, Gale. What a coincidence meeting you here.”

Every single ounce of her inner self was screaming at her for that terrible pickup line, but she squared her shoulders, looking more like she was about to march off to war than present someone with a gift of affection. Using his keen powers of perception, Gale had spotted something was afoot and took a few steps closer to her, looking down at her tightly held bouquet in amusement. 

“Good morning yourself.” he replied, all tiredness gone from his eyes as a grin stretched across his face. “You’ve been busy it seems.”

“Yes.” Clara said, shifting her stance and glancing down at the hideous creation she possessed. “A little.” 

A pause sounded between the two, only the sounds of birds chirping and running water breaking the silence. Finally, Gale opened his mouth to speak, a multitude of questions on his tongue, but Clara was faster, closing the gap between them as she shoved the bouquet into his chest.

“Here.” she said, looking anywhere at all except the man before her. “These are for you. I hope you enjoy them.”

“For me?” Gale echoed, reaching up to gently cover her hands with his over the abomination between them. “That’s...not what I was expecting, but thank you.” He gave the bouquet a closer look, eyes narrowing in thought. “Iris...Marjoram...Blue Salvia?” he murmured, glancing back up to Clara. “These flowers aren’t native to the Sword Coast...how did you-”

“A Prestidigitation spell.” Clara said quickly, releasing her grip on the flowers and taking a much-needed step back. She was in the thick of it now, there was absolutely no way she could back out, and her entire form felt sick, her heart pulsing wildly in her chest. “They’re actually just sticks, normal flowers wouldn’t last long in this current climate and with what all the fighting we do it wouldn’t be logical to hold on to flowers, but I thought you could use some anyway.” She paused, sucking in a breath. Gale’s eyebrow quirked as he looked back at the gift, his gaze softening. Morning Glory sat nestled against some bright yellow Tulips, some Edelweiss and Angelica popping up here and there with splashes of white. Overall, he thought, this was... _beautiful_.

“A very nice selection.” he mused, his lips curling upwards. “Do you have any knowledge of flower language?”

Clara stilled, wondering if she should mention the seven hours of research and spellcasting that took place the night before. “A...little.” she said, hoping her poker face won out. “I hope that the bouquet is...to your satisfaction.”

“Do you know two things I have realised during our time together?” Gale suddenly asked, his gaze locked upon hers. “One, you become overly formal if you are uncomfortable or nervous. And two…” he paused, moving closer to her until they were mere centimetres apart. Clara was as still as a statue as he brought a free hand up to her cheek, gently brushing away a stray hair with a finger. “You are a terrible, terrible liar.” he murmured. “Because do you know what _I_ see in this bouquet?”

Clara was going to die. This was it. The moment her heart would implode, taking out both herself and the shitty little tadpole in one swift move. Her head was on fire, her chest currently unable to take in any air whatsoever and her stomach turning wildly. She watched as Gale picked at the bouquet, drawing an Iris from the bundle. He smiled as he reached for her, softly sliding the flower behind her pointed ear. “I see a Message…” he began, plucking a Morning Glory next, repeating his gesture. “Affection…”

Edelweiss and a small piece of Fern followed next. “I see Courage...and Magic.” Gale continued, turning his attention to her other ear, moving to brush fine strands of silver hair away to reveal it. “I see that you think of me.” Blue Salvia was offered, the striking blues and purples of the flower standing out against her fair skin. “And with these yellow Tulips and Angelica?” he smiled, overwhelming affection in his gaze as he lifted her chin with a finger. “Sunshine and inspiration? If put together, I think that all makes something _quite_ beautiful, would you not agree?”

If a second Nautiloid came and snatched her away only to put _another_ tadpole in her head, Clara would be happy with that if it meant she could escape this self-imposed trap. Everything was piling up in her chest, everything on the tip of her tongue just bursting at the seams to be ushered out. It was all too much, _far_ too much, she couldn’t-!

“May I kiss you?” she blurted out, immediately wanting to jump in the lake as soon as the words had left her mouth. “We both know I’m terrible with words and expressing feelings and…” she glanced at the remaining bundle in Gale’s hand. “Gestures of affection. But I do...enjoy your company and your intellectual mind and the magic that you’ve shown me. And I know in some small part you feel similarly. I am terrible, utterly terrible with this. But…” she moved closer, placing a delicate hand upon the Wizard’s cheek. “If you would allow me, I would show you how much you mean to me.”

It seemed it was Gale’s turn to grow still, his eyes crinkled in affection as he looked down at her. Still holding the bouquet, his arms curled around her waist, bringing his forehead flush with hers. “I await your demonstration.” he breathed, noting how bright those grey eyes shone in the morning light, looking up at him through those thick lashes. 

Her heart pounding wildly, the blood rushing in her ears and her hands feeling clammy, Clara let out a soft sigh, cupping Gale’s face with both hands. The feeling of his forehead against hers, how his brown eyes, so warm and so soft, stared right through all her barriers. The feeling of the morning mist, still swirling around their legs, cold and crisp. Despite her trepidation and panic, this could not have gone better if she tried. Gathering all her courage, she leaned up on her toes and gently pressed her lips to his.

She was right. He was warm, so very warm. And soft. Gale leaned down slightly more to allow her an easier reach as one of her hands moved to his shoulder, pulling him even closer. She heard a quick snap of his fingers shortly before lavender suddenly filled her senses, swirling around her in a gentle breeze. Everything in this moment felt safe, felt calm. And as they finally separated, she buried her head into his chest, arms wrapping around his middle. She felt him chuckle as he tightened his hold, dropping his head down to place a gentle kiss upon her crown.

“Well.” Gale murmured, a smile seeping into his words as he broke the silence. “This is certainly a good way to start the morning.”

“Did you cast Prestidigitation to make yourself smell like lavender?” Came Clara’s muffled voice from his robe. “I wondered where you were getting it.”

“It’s calming.” Gale defended, resting his chin atop her head as he stared out to the lake. “And I would rather be calm than anxious during our current situation, wouldn’t you agree?”

Clara simply hummed, letting out a sigh. “Thank you.” she said. “For being so understanding. You may have gathered I haven’t much experience in these things.” Lifting her head, she stared up at Gale, watching the soft morning shine in his eyes. “Have you?” she asked.

Gale fell silent, his brows furrowing in what she could only assume was to do with the ever brightening sunlight. “A little.” he offered, drawing her closer to kiss her again, the light covering them in comforting warmth. “Just a little.”


	12. Breaking and Entering

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The gang attempts to infiltrate the Goblin Stronghold, with various outcomes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys! Long time no see! I really hope you're all well and safe.
> 
> I'm so sorry for not updating for a while. Truth is, I'm really not very well at the moment - thankfully not 'Rona but all the same that combined with work is kicking me to the curb! I was on a break before when I wrote most of the previous chapters, so I apologise for how it's all ground to a halt. I fully intend to keep this work going, I love writing Clara and BG3 and I can't wait to get further into the story I'm crafting. I've figured the next few chapters out, it's just a matter of writing them, hopefully when I'm better! Below is the next upcoming chapter, but sadly a bit shorter than the last ones. My plan is to get this one out, dust off the cobwebs to churn out newer, shinier future chapters!!
> 
> Sorry for the ramble, I hope you enjoy this, but more will come, I promise! Thank you again for tuning in!

“I am in shock.” Shadowheart said aloud, squinting as if she had a headache. “I cannot believe that worked.”

“Face a problem with enough confidence,” Clara said, stepping out of the way of a completely plastered Goblin. “And most people will buy anything. Especially if the people are...somewhat inebriated.”

Inebriated was putting it lightly. After they’d cleared the initial guard post by proving themselves members of the Absolute club - Clara didn’t think for a second that they’d receive a VIP ticket into the entire complex. But here they were. She stared around at the hoard of goblins stumbling around, most with a drink or two in their hands. One even had his head positioned directly underneath a cask, only lifting a hand up occasionally to release the sweet alcohol into his awaiting maw. The vibe was less of a war party, but more of a celebratory one. Despite all this, Clara reminded herself that the only thing worse than a drunken Goblin, was a sober Goblin.

“Well.” she began, looking straight ahead towards the temple. A hulking ogre stood guard, occasionally reaching over to flick giggling Goblins away with a finger. Clara turned to face her companions, giving them a long look. “I don’t think jumping headfirst into this is the correct answer. Ideas?” Her head snapped over to Wyll, who was in the process of removing his sword from his scabbard. He gave her a frown, an expression seemingly plastered to his face since their arrival, and begrudgingly slid it back in. “I don’t see why we can’t just go for it.” he grumbled, casting a glaring gaze on any Goblin who wandered too close. “They’re drunk, this wouldn’t even be a challenge.”

“As much as I like your confidence,” Clara said. “I would rather all of us not end up with wounds before we’ve even set foot inside. There’ll be a greater challenge ahead than these.”

“Perhaps we should look around, see if there are any openings for us to slide in?” Gale suggested. “The little devils have hardly got both eyes on the target - so to speak. There might be something they’ve missed?”

“Well we’d better get a move on, whatever we decide.” Shadowheart commented, casting a disapproving glance around the area. “We should rescue the Druid and see to the matter of ridding the tadpoles as fast as possible.”

No one argued with that logic. They split off in pairs - Clara and Gale headed towards the left hand side of the courtyard, where a large gathering of jeering goblins stood. Glancing over the bundle of bodies, Clara was surprised to see an Owlbear cub, trying in vain to avoid their occasional jabs and yells. “Oh.” she murmured, giving Gale a poke in the arm. “Is that not the same cub from before?”

Gale squinted at it before humming in agreement. “It certainly looks like it.” he mused. He glanced downward, noting how Clara’s eyes were fixed on the sad-looking thing and frowned. “I don’t like that look,” he said. “What are you planning?”

Clara murmured something he couldn’t quite catch, before she was striding over, reaching for a scroll of Animal Speech in her pack. He watched as she cast the spell, green sparks shimmering around her form, before she began to speak in soft tones. The Owlbear cub, surprised in her gesture, seemed hesitant at first - but noticeably relaxed as she continued. Finally, to Gale’s incredulous stare, she picked the thing up, holding it with its back to her chest as if it was a giant puppy. Turning round, she peered over the Owlbear’s head at Gale with a long stare.

Gale stared right back, knowing exactly what she was thinking. “No.” he stressed, noting with the barest hint of adoration that she was attempting to make her eyes as wide as possible. “Clara, no.”

“I didn’t say anything.” Clara replied, giving the Owlbear cub a small squeeze. It seemed quite happy to hang there, held under its front legs like a stuffed toy. Whatever she’d said to it had gone down pretty well it seemed. “But, since we’re on the subject.” she said quickly, clearly not meeting Gale’s long stare. “Have I not always said our camp would be far better off if we had an Owlbear cub with us?”

“You have quite literally never said that.” Gale replied dryly. “Ever. You realise this thing will tear our faces off when it gets bigger?” He gestured dramatically, clawing at the air with half a smile. “It would be a lot of trouble to take it back with us.”

“But Gale.” Clara murmured, shuffling a few steps forward. “Look at his face.” 

Gale looked. The Owlbear cub blinked back, tilting its head in an admittedly adorable fashion. It didn’t help that Clara performed the same movement, both of them staring right into his soul. 

“He’s a wild animal.” he remarked weakly, the tide beginning to turn on him.

“But look how soft he is.”

“The softness of his feathers does not argue a solid defense for his adoption.”

“Feel his feathers. Right under his chin, go on.”

“Very well. Hm. All right, he is very soft. However he’s still dangerous, Clara. And yes, his eyes are big and comically adorable and yes, he does make rather sweet noises. But-”

“Gale.” Clara uttered, her grey eyes piercing through him. “Please.”

Gale sighed, quirking a brow at her. “You aren’t going to let this go, are you?” he murmured. Clara shook her head gently, finally setting the Owlbear back on the floor with a small huff. She reached a hand out to it, allowing it to take in her scent. With a few sniffs, a few last pats on the head and a quick scamper, the Owlbear fled out of the camp, surprised Goblins crying out as they were forced to jump out of the way. 

“The others won’t be too happy, I expect.” Gale commented, watching Clara step forward to give his hand a squeeze. “I know.” she said, briefly leaning herself against him. “Thank you.”

“Oi!”

The two of them were broken from their moment from a rather disgruntled looking Goblin standing before them, her face set in a permanent scowl. “What the ‘ell are you playin’ at?!” she screeched, both hands on her hips. “That was ours! We use it for our races, what are we gonna use now?” 

Clara gazed around them for a moment, before alighting on a rather worried looking chicken hiding in a corner, its gaze affixed on the rotating spit in the centre of the yard. “You have a chicken over there.” she offered, looking back at the Goblin. “I’m sure that will be a reasonable replacement.”

“Like ‘ell!” the Goblin cried, moving to jab a gnarled, grubby finger into Clara’s leg, earning herself a quiet “Ow.” from the half elf. “You owe us a new race animal! Cough one up stick-legs, or things’ll get proper ugly for ya!”

Sighing, Clara waved a hand, muttering under her breath and in a flash an identical looking Owlbear phased into view. Sitting with its eyes wide and its haunches taut, it was almost as if the first Owlbear had never left. The Goblin squinted at it suspiciously, reaching out a hand to touch it. “What’s this then?” she muttered, before crying out in surprise as Clara quickly slapped her greasy palm away.

“Don’t.” Clara said. “It’s...shy. If you touch it, you’ll spook it.”

“Is it real?” The Goblin replied, beady eyes staring the Owlbear up and down. “How’d you make it appear so suddenly?”

“I used a simple teleportation spell.” The half elf replied, blatantly ignoring how Gale had smothered a grin with his fist, eyeing her very obvious Minor Illusion sat before them. “It’s very well trained. Let it rest for...ten minutes and it will do everything you command, I promise.”

“Uh..huh.” The Goblin didn’t look very convinced, her gaze shooting over to Clara. “I know a scam when I see one, and you’ve got guilt written all over your face!”

Clara stopped, paused, before turning to Gale, who seemed to be rather enjoying the whole display. “Do I?” she asked.

Gale only chuckled in response. “I think you’re rather innocent, personally.” he replied, a tell-tale twinkle in his eyes. Briefly lifting up a hand, he gave her face a gentle touch, his fingers trailing softly over her cheek, before bringing them away to inspect. “No.” he declared, rubbing his fingers together and holding them out towards the Goblin proudly. “She’s clean! The Owlbear is as real as the Absolute!”

The Goblin seemed to mull it over for a moment, gnawing on her inner cheek with thought. Finally, she shrugged, shaking her head as she turned away to grab a cask of ale. “Screw this.” She called out, giving them a glare. “I’m not dealing with this magic shite. That Owlbear better be ready to race later - or you’ll regret it!”

“Of course.” Clara replied, back as straight as a rod, before taking Gale’s hand and ushering him around the corner and out of sight. Allowing himself to be pulled, Gale watched as she checked around them for spectators before finally facing him head on. “That spell won’t last forever.” he advised, searching her face for any hint of a plan. “We’d better find our way in soon, see anything?”

For a brief moment, Clara was not wholly concerned with their overarching mission. Instead, she reached over to squeeze Gale’s arm quickly. “That.” she said, looking up in the Wizard’s eyes. “Was so. Much. Fun.”

Gale grinned, moving her hand to hold it tightly instead. “I thought I always detected a mischievous side to you,” he replied. “It seems my theories were correct. Are you...truly intending to send the Owlbear back to the camp?”

Clara nodded, looking down at their linked hands. She stopped for a moment, letting out a soft sigh. “It’s lonely.” she replied. “After we...after its mother met an unfortunate end, it’s been wandering alone but because of the Owlbear’s history - no one wanted to approach it. Aside from the Goblins, but they’d take anything for entertainment.”

She fell quiet before meeting Gale’s gaze once more. “Perhaps I am too sentimental, but I couldn’t allow someone to be treated so terribly, simply for outside appearances. There’s far too much of that already.”

Gale’s eyes turned sympathetic, and Clara allowed herself to be pulled into a gentle embrace. “For what it’s worth.” the Wizard murmured, placing a soft kiss on the top of her head. “I find you wonderful, inside and out.”

“You’re biased.” Clara muttered, arms circling his waist out of reflex. “The received information from the participant is skewed and therefore not valid.”

“Sadly the experiment is lacking all other test subjects.” Gale replied, pulling back to smile down at her. “I suppose we’ll have to accept these results.”

Clara simply huffed, stepping back to create space between them. It had been an interesting few days since she had braved the muddled waters of romance, and taken the plunge. They hadn’t properly discussed it however, but currently the simple act of enjoying each other’s company seemed enough. The occasional hand hold, a quick kiss or embrace during a quiet moment. Gale hadn’t mentioned desiring anything further for now, and Clara was grateful for it. Considering how she almost exploded over a confession, she was more than happy to go slowly. Now if only Gale could stop making her heart beat as if it were about to burst from her chest with a simple phrase, she’d be much better. 

But unfortunately, standing in a Goblin camp with the overwhelming plan of rescuing a Druid hanging over their heads was not a fantastic place to ruminate.

“Thank you.” she said. “That was very sweet. Do you see any other entrances around here?”

“Mm.” Gale replied, inclining his head towards a higher level of the camp. They could just make out the slumped figures of some Goblins and a few Bugbears, forgotten mugs of ale left haphazardly around them. “If we aren’t going through the front, for obvious reasons, perhaps we might find something up there?”

“A good idea.” Clara said, patting his arm gently. “I’ll round up Wyll and Shadowheart before we continue. Let’s hope they haven’t stabbed or insulted the Goblins to death.”

To Clara’s luck, they hadn’t. Suspiciously however, both the Cleric and the Warlock had come back rather quiet, neither making eye contact. Clara glanced between them, waiting for an answer. “Well?” she said, watching how Shadowheart’s scowl had reached peak levels and how Wyll had suddenly grown very interested in the floor. “What’s wrong with you two?”

“Nothing!” Shadowheart snapped. Clara almost swore she caught the faintest glimpses of a blush adorning her cheeks. “We searched the rest of the camp but came up with nothing.”

“I don’t know…” Wyll trailed off, barely holding back laughter. “You might have caught something after you-”

His thought was broken by Shadowheart sending a heavy blow to his side. “Enough!” The Cleric shrieked, looming over Wyll as he stumbled. “We are never discussing it. Ever.”

“Alright, alright!” Wyll chuckled, his hands coming up placatingly as he took a few steps away. “My lips are sealed.” His cocky grin that adorned his face, however, told a very different story. Clara glanced up at Gale by her side, wondering if he’d managed to figure out the context. Unfortunately, he seemed just as confused, but the sheer idea that Shadowheart was this flustered could only mean that it was something incredibly embarrassing and under no circumstances would she ever share it with the rest of the group. Smelling blood, Gale’s grin widened as he made to continue the line of interrogation, but Clara decided to throw her fellow Half-Elf a lifeline.   
“We can pick on each other later.” she said, watching as Shadowheart almost slumped in relief. Gale and Wyll looked disappointed, but proceeded to follow the Sorcerer’s climb up the ladders on the far side of the area. 

It had been a pretty unfair fight. The Goblins and Bugbears were still fast asleep on the ground, loud snores rising into the air despite the enthusiastic partying taking place down below. Not wanting to expel any more energy than they needed to, it took the combined efforts of Shadowheart holding them down and Wyll stabbing each creature in the head quickly in order to clear the area. As they performed their silent takedowns, Clara inspected a large but precarious-looking stone wall. Standing closer to it, she could make out the tiny holes adorning it and, if she raised a hand up, could feel the slightest breeze coming from inside. 

“Here.” she called out, looking on as the party moved to her side. Wyll was wiping down his rapier with a cloth as he too gave the wall a quick glance. “Not very sturdy.” he commented. “A good bash could sort this right out.”

“It’s a good thing we have just the person for that.” Clara replied, stepping aside to make room for Shadowheart. The Cleric brandished her mace with a determined expression, her body set in a wide stance, with the intention of putting all her strength into her swing. “Let’s get this Druid and quickly.” she announced. “I can’t stand another minute of having these things in our heads.”

The party nodded, standing away from the wall to allow Shadowheart better access. As she lined up her swing, Gale glanced down at Clara, giving her a small smile. “Ready to be cured?” he asked.

Clara met his eyes and nodded. “Yes.” she said, over the crash of the mace and the thudding of rubble falling. “Let’s finish this.”


End file.
